


The Blood that Binds

by waterbird13



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Addiction, Blood, Demon Dean, Demons, M/M, Mark of Cain, Minor Character Death, Sambenny relationship, Vampirism, dean negative, s9 divergence, what might technically be considered assisted suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 17:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6619924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In season eight, canon diverges and Sam convinces Benny to come back from Purgatory, wherein the vampire promptly disappears for reasons unknown to Sam. In season nine, canon diverges again and Sam refuses to stick around after Dean's duplicity is revealed. Continuously hunted by demons, Sam runs into Benny, and the two team up to face a world against them.</p><p>Written for the 2016 Rare Pair Big Bang, art by Burningwicker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, welcome to Rare Pair Big Bang 2016!
> 
> This fic is a bit strange for me, because I finished it back in November as a draft, and it's only been tweaked since then. Honestly I've been waiting to share it with you for months. I hope it's at least a little worth the wait. I remember writing this in the weirdest places, halfway around the world--many pages were handwritten in hostels, parks, beaches, and classrooms while I was in Australia. This fic has truly traveled with me over recent times.
> 
> This fic has wonderful art, provided by the amazing Burningwicker, who put such an incredible amount of effort into this Bang and deserves all the nice things. 
> 
> With that, let's get to the warnings: This is Sambenny. It deals heavily with addiction and blood, detox and relapse, the nature of vampirism, death, and killing. It deals with demons and the Mark of Cain, including (slightly spoilerish) Demon Dean. There are minor character deaths, one of which is onscreen and might be considered an assisted suicide. This is not a fic that exists to be nice to Dean, and to be fair, Dean as Dean isn't in most of this, but it still isn't super complimentary to him.
> 
> I believe that's all. Enjoy reading folks, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it!

 (Art by [Burningwicker](http://burningwicker.tumblr.com/) [HERE](http://i.imgur.com/fagRMPf.jpg).)

 

 

Sam’s not going back to the Bunker.

Never mind how his hands burnt out Kevin’s eyes there. Never mind how Dean spent _months_ betraying him there.

No, at the end of the day, that’s Dean’s place. Dean, who always damned the idea of home, fell in love with a bed of his own, pictures of the wall, a kitchen of his own. It’s Dean’s place, and bottom line, Dean doesn’t want Sam anymore.

Well, honestly, Sam’s not sure he wants to be around Dean anymore, either. So it works out, he guesses.

Cas doesn’t want to let Sam go, and Sam almost feels bad leaving the newly re-made angel behind. But he knows where Cas’ primary loyalties lie, and it’s never been with him. Cas will be just fine without Sam. Everyone else always is.

He goes back just long enough to grab his stuff and take a car, and if he could walk through the Bunker with his eyes closed, he would. But no. Instead he has to look around the room Kevin died in, and it’s not as if a body is still there, but Sam sees an imprint just fine. He hurries past, wondering if he’s betraying Kevin by averting his eyes, but keeps moving nonetheless.

He pauses in the garage. Cars are always Dean’s domain, have been since Dad taught him to drive, since Dad gave him the Impala. Dean drove. Sam waited for a ride. That’s just the way it is.

But Dean’s not here, and Sam needs a car. He looks around at the wide array, debating.

Everything is old, and flashy, and probably takes more maintenance than Sam could reasonably keep up with. He could take one to sell, he supposes, but something reasonable, like a Prius or something.

Then he sees the Harley.

Well. Okay then. He can work with that.

It’s not like he has a motorcycle license--not that he has a legal driver’s license at all--or that he really knows how to drive one. But he walks towards it nonetheless, lets his hands run over the still shiny chrome finish, and nods.

He straps his bag on and pulls out of the garage, sparing a moment to think about Cas at the Bunker.

But Dean will be back soon, Sam’s sure. And then everything will be fine.

So he lets as many thoughts of the Bunker go as he can, and drives through the night.

 

Sam’s forgotten what it’s like to be alone. It hasn’t even been that long--Dean’s been back eighteen months--but the memory slipped Sam’s mind nonetheless.

He was alone before Amelia, and after Amelia but before Dean found him again. Those times were shaky for him, but he remembers.

He remembers vividly now.

Loneliness. Deep, strung-out loneliness, and he knows he’s gone, but it almost feels like Lucifer is snapping at his heels again. He _knows_ he threw Gadreel out, remembers it happening, but who’s to say that wasn’t a construction of possession? Is his head really his?

The motel rooms he finds are too quiet. It feels like the worst corners of his own brain, with no proof any of it’s real. He sleeps three, four hours a night now, wide-awake most of the time, pressing the gnarled scar on his palm. It doesn’t help.

So when Crowley starts sending demons, Sam has no sleep, no support, and not much grasp on reality. It’s not a great combination.

He’s in California. He hasn’t seen Jess’ grave in a decade, Earth time. Thousands of years, to Sam, and he can barely remember her face, but he has the desire to see her grave.

Somehow, some part of him still knows where it is. He wishes he remembered her laugh, but instead he gets a cemetery layout kicking around in his brain. Of course.

He shows up with daisies. He doesn’t know why this, either, but _daisies_ is what comes out of his mouth at the flower shop, so that’s what she’ll get.

It’s the middle of the night when Sam makes it to her grave, but he can see it just fine, and it looks well enough. Someone must be maintaining it, and Sam spends a moment of thought for whoever is taking the time. He’s not surprised, though. If he is still drawn to her, thousands of years later, then it’s not surprising everyone else still loves her, only ten years after she went up in flames.

He kneels, dropping the daisies at the base of her grave. The ground is slightly soft and muddy, giving under his knees, and the wetness soaks into his pants. He doesn’t care, much. The jeans need to be washed anyways.

“Hey Jess,” he says quietly. “Been a while. I’m, uh, sorry about that. Been busy. Not that that’s an excuse,” he says hurriedly. “I brought flowers,” he adds, reaching out to touch the paper wrapping the stems.

“How sweet,” a voice says.

For a minute, Sam’s brain jumps to _ghost_. Jess, hanging around, waiting to take her vengeance on Sam, who did get her killed.

Sam almost laughs. Well, let her kill him. She deserves it. It’s about time.

But no. There’s an extra body there. Sam turns to look.

College aged kid, tiny little thing. Her eyes are a bright, piercing blue, until they flash black.

Sam has a knife in his boot, but it’s just a knife, not Ruby’s. In short, he’s all but defenseless.

“What do you want?” he asks dully.

She laughs again. “Not so scary,” she teases. “And here I was worried about the big, bad hunter. I see I was wrong.”

Sam grips his knife, even as he knows it’s essentially useless. “What do you want?” he repeats.

“The King wants to see you,” she says.

“Well, I don’t want to see him,” Sam snaps.

She tuts. “That’s not how it works, Sam.”

He moves to his feet. “What’s he want with me, anyways?” he asks, eyeing her carefully. An exorcism is really his only option, although how he is going to pull it off is beyond him.

“Not for us to question the king, Sammy Boy,” she says flippantly.

“Don’t call me that,” he says automatically.

She snorts. “You’re not in much of a position to bargain, are you, Sammy Boy? Defenseless, just waiting for me to decide what to do to you.”

Then she smiles, all easy and friendly. “Relax,” she says. “The King just wants a meeting. But first, he thought we should get acquainted.”

“Why?” Sam asks, frowning. He wishes he had his angel blade. But it’s in his bag, on his bike. He didn’t think he needed it to visit a grave.

He should have known better. He’s a Winchester.

“The King wants us to be very…welcoming to you,” she says, baring teeth with her smile.

Sam swallows. Nothing about that sounds right. Sam grips his knife a little tighter.

“What does he want with me?” he repeats, gritting his teeth.

“Haven’t you guessed?” she says. And rather than explaining, she quickly bites open her own meat suit's wrist, offering up the spurting vein. “A buffet, just waiting for you,” she taunts.

“Is he _insane?”_ Sam asks, doing his best not to breathe in through his nose. “He wants me hyped up on the stuff that can kill demons permanently?”

“First rule of dependence, baby,” she says. “Never kill your dealer. Now, I imagine this must smell pretty good.”

It’s laughable, actually, if she thinks some sweet-smelling blood is really going to pull him down. He pulls out his knife and stabs her. It doesn’t do much, but the shock and the iron inlaid on the blade manage to stun her for a moment.

“ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica…”_ Sam recites rapidly, tongue flowing naturally over the words, even as the sweet smell of the blood finally reaches him.

She lashes at him, but he’s too fast and she’s too late. He finishes the exorcism before she can grab him, and she’s gone, leaving the body collapsing to the ground.

The girl is breathing. It takes Sam a moment, stunned. They don’t see many live hosts, anymore.

But he pulls himself together, and rips his outer shirt off. It’s not the cleanest, but it will do. At least he can stem the blood coming from the arm wound until he can get her to a hospital.

He tries not to think about the blood. It doesn’t smell as strong, as demonic, anymore, but the smell lingers. He wonders how long that will last. A day, a few hours? Will she be permanently left with it?

He can’t bring her to the hospital, not with the bike. Instead, he turns his phone on--it’s been off since he left the Bunker, lest Dean work up the desire to see him again and decide to put a trace on him--and calls 9-1-1.

Then, taking one last look at the girl and doing his best to make sure she’s not going to bleed out in the time it takes an ambulance to get there, he takes off.

He’s shaking, even as he’s driving the bike.

He doesn’t need this, Crowley and demons and the goddamn _blood_. He’s supposed to be getting better. He’s supposed to be feeling _human_ again, after everything that just happened.

Instead, things are just going off the rails.

 

It becomes almost a dance, staying ahead of the demons.

His angel blade never leaves his side. He’s staying in motel rooms so warded he’s frankly surprised he can get through the door. He bought automobile paint one day and covered the bike in sigils. Dean would say it ruins the classic aesthetic.

Dean’s not here to complain, though, and Sam has demons on his ass. The sigils stay.

He moves around the country. It’s not so much that he deludes himself into thinking that they can’t find him if he moves, but more along the lines that, if he doesn’t, he’s a sitting duck, just waiting for them to catch up. At least this way, he has something on his side.

He takes up hunting again. It’s not a good way to stay away from demons of the literal kind, but it is a decent way to quiet the more figurative ones in his brain. He stays busy, thinks of anything outside the job less, and hopes that no one will catch up to him.

Today’s stop is Louisiana. There’s a shifter, by the looks of things.

Or maybe it’s just a case of some really loud, insistent people saying they’re not involved in a crime, and Sam falling for their cries. But it can’t hurt to check it out, he supposes.

He rolls into town close to midnight, and would honestly get straight to work if the FBI rolling in at that hour wouldn’t look incredibly suspicious. Instead, he gets a motel room, wards the place to high heaven, and settles in for the night.

He doesn’t sleep. Of course he doesn’t. He briefly debates leaving again, finding the nearest liquor store, and getting to sleep the Winchester Way. But out of all of them, Sam’s never been the big drinker. And replacing one addiction with another sounds terrible even to him.

So he sits up. At least the TV has good reception, and makes decent background noise while he studies the cracks on the wall. He thinks about tomorrow’s hunt. One shifter, seven victims. All young women, around the same age. Sam swallows. He hates ones like this.

Seven boyfriends, best friends, and brothers in jail, too. Sam’s not quite sure what he can do to bring them justice, vindication, but that’s on his to-do list, definitely. They shouldn’t have to spend their lives in prison--hell, maybe getting the needle, the death penalty is legal here in Louisiana--just because some sick fuck targeted them and their loved one.

His first stop will be the police. Then maybe some family interviews, see what all these young women have in common. Hopefully, he can wrap this up quickly. At least before another woman dies, he hopes.

He tunes back into the TV. Infomercials. Somehow, Sam finds himself especially fascinated by Ginsu knives that night.

 

He’s ready to go as soon as he can reasonably justify the FBI showing up at the police precinct, stopping only to grab a coffee at a small Mom ‘n Pops on the way in. The bike and the suit aren’t a particularly great combination, but Sam knows how to work with what he has, and, really, considering everything in his life, this doesn’t even hit his top fifty of weird moments.

He straightens out the suit, trying to brush out any wrinkles before he heads inside, flashing a badge at the desk. “Agent Dickens,” he says. “I’m here about these murders you’re experiencing.”

The clerk blinks. “The copycat murders?”

Copycats. Right. “Sure thing, buddy. Can you tell me who’s in charge?”

The clerk directs him to a detective in the back, a Detective Michael Prentiss, judging by the nameplate on his desk. He’s currently on the phone, so Sam sits down and settles in, passing a discreet eye over the place.

Overall, it looks like every other police precinct in a decent sized town. Uniformed officers, plainclothes detectives, a few people filing complaints--very few, considering the hour--coffee brewing on the counter, and paperwork stacked halfway to the ceiling.

“What can I do for you?” Detective Prentiss asks.

Sam holds out his hand. “Agent Dickens,” he introduces. “Here about those murders.”

Detective Prentiss blinks slow and long. “They send you out when we caught the guys?” he asks.

Sam shifts around in his chair. Lying isn’t hard, it really isn’t. He was raised on it, after all. “You really think seven generally law-abiding men all independently decided to commit murder?” Sam asks, obfuscating around the issue.

“You think they’re more than just copy cats,” the detective surmises.

Sam manages a half a smile. “Catch on quick,” he says.

The detective sighs. “Tell you the truth, we’ve only had two murders in this town in fifteen years, before this,” he confesses. “One of them was Mrs. O’Heally stabbing her husband with a pair of scissors, and trust me when I say the no-good son of a bitch deserved it. We’re a little out of our depth, here.” He takes a deep breath, as if fortifying himself for something difficult. “We’d…appreciate your help.”

Sam knows what that often costs local law enforcement, and sets out to make this not any more difficult. “I want autopsy reports,” he says quietly. “Any interviews you’ve done. I’ll want access to the accused, as well as the victim’s remaining loved ones.”

“What are you thinking you’ll find?” Detective Prentiss asks.

“I have no idea,” Sam lies smoothly. “But trust me I’ll find it. We always do.”

 

The bodies don’t turn up much. Or, at least, the autopsy reports don’t turn up much. Four of the bodies are already buried, one cremated, and while two are still awaiting burial, he’s not offered access to them. He could make his own access, he supposes, it wouldn’t even be hard. But desecrating bodies when he doesn’t know for sure if it’s necessary is very low on his list of things to do.

Instead, he turns to the interviews. First the ones the police had already taken, reading through them quickly. But of course, the police have no idea what to actually look for, what questions to ask. Sam will have to repeat them.

Jail makes people look terrible. Sam’s seen pictures of each of these guys before all this, and it’s heartbreaking to see them in uniforms, still looking shocked, like they can’t believe that this has happened. Which makes sense, Sam supposes, considering they didn’t do anything. Most of these guys never had more than a parking ticket before.

“I believe you,” he says when he first sits with each of them, which gets him a mix of stunned attention and distrustful stares. Fair enough, Sam supposes. “This is out of nowhere for you, and everyone knows it. You loved her, and no one’s disputing that. Something doesn’t add up, and I’m here to look into it.”

Sam presses at them. “Is there anyone she had issues with?” he asks over and over. “Anyone at all? Even years ago. Think about it for a minute.”

No one seems to have an answer, even as much as they seem to desperately want to give him one. But then Sam makes his way all the way down the list to the accused boyfriend of the first victim. “Yeah,” he says. “I kept telling the police, but they wouldn’t listen to me. Not once the neighbor said they saw me, I guess.”

“Who?” Sam presses.

“This guy at her yoga class. Howard...something. Starts with a C. Total creep.”

It’s the first lead Sam’s had. It’s not even a solid one. But it’s enough. “Got the name of that studio?” he asks.

 

Howard Clancy is the name. The address he signed up at the yoga studio with is completely bogus, or at least a place he deserted a while back. Probably around the time he killed Mary, his first victim, Sam figures.

It’s not an unusual pattern for shifters. They try to blend in, something hits them wrong, they break and go underground--often literally-- and wind up killing people.

Or maybe this guy just likes killing. It doesn’t really matter. What matters is that the next most likely place is the sewers, and Sam needs to poke around.

Of course, the sewers are extensive and Sam doesn’t know where to find the guy.

He hears something, echoing down the tunnels. A _scream_.

It’s not the shifter’s MO to take people back to his lair, but what else could the scream mean? He takes off at a sprint.

There’s not another scream, so Sam comes to a halt, unable to track the sound. He starts poking around, hoping he doesn’t find another body.

He finds the source of the noise after a few minutes. In one corner, there’s a body on the ground. Hands are holding its torso up, and a head is bent to the neck.

Sam swallows. _Vampire_. He didn’t expect this. There were no signs, none whatsoever. And it doesn’t explain all the signs of the shifter.

He has a gun loaded with silver, his angel blade, and his knife in his boot. No machete. No dead man’s blood. He should back away. He should leave, regroup, come back, before the vampire realizes that he’s here.

Too late. The vampire turns his head, and Sam stands frozen. He could take a head off with the angel blade, Sam thinks. It won’t be easy, not when the blade is meant more for stabbing than cutting, but it’s possible. He braces himself for the effort it will take.

He blinks, taking in the image before him fully. “Benny?”

The vampire blinks slowly back at him. “Your brother always warned ya might well kill me. He send ya after me finally?”

Sam rears back. “Haven’t seen Dean in over two months,” he admits, holding his angel blade a little tighter. “He doesn’t give me orders, either.”

Not anymore, at least.

“No,” Benny says. “Sorry. Guess I didn’t mean that. Jus’ a little worried. It’s distractin’ me.”

“Why would Dean send me after you?” Sam asks.

“Can’t ya guess?” Benny asks.

“He _knew_ you fell off the wagon?” Sam asks, incredulous. All of Dean’s talk, all of that shit about what makes a monster, about once a monster always a monster, about how Benny was _different_ , could be _trusted_. All bullshit.

“Since he sent me after ya in Purgatory. Well, ya know. I didn’t exactly intend to come back. Confess my sins before I go. Still some Catholic left in me, I suppose. But you’re convincin’, Sam, got me back. Pied Piper there, you are. Followed right along, didn’ wanna say no to ya. For all the good it did. I’d made my bed, Dean cast me out, an’ all alone, it’s hard to get back on that wagon.”

Sam swallows. “He knew,” he repeats quietly.

“Guessin’ he didn’t tell ya,” Benny says dryly.

Sam shakes his head. “Dean doesn’t like to be wrong,” he says.

Benny chuckles a bit. “True enough,” he says. “I’m figurin’ that out. Now, this has been pleasant an’ all, but if you’re gonna kill me, I’d rather get it on with. If it’s all the same to you.”

Sam squeezes his angel blade, but doesn’t lift it. The thoughts that he could wield it to behead seem very distant, now. He _knows_ this face.

“Is that my shifter?” Sam asks, instead.

“My shifter, since I caught him,” Benny points out. “I’m off the wagon, but I’m not…it’s damn tempting, but I take the edge off with scum like this. Killers. Rapists. Abusers. Supernatural or otherwise.”

“You can’t…” Sam begins, but he trails off. Who is he to tell Benny that he can’t play judge, jury, and executioner? Sam does it all the time. Hell, he’s doing it right at this very moment. “Is he dead?” he asks instead.

Benny nods. “Lemme see,” Sam demands.

The shifter, besides his mangled neck, looks like the description of Howard Clancy he was given at the yoga studio. Sam almost slips trying to get a closer look, and realizes with disgust that it’s shifter skin. Howard has changed his look, even recently.

His neck is a little mangled, but other than that, he doesn’t look any different. A little sunken, maybe. Sam watches the body as Benny lets it fall to the ground.

“No silver needed?” Sam asks.

“Amazin’ what blood loss like this’ll do to a body,” Benny says dryly. “Ya can shoot him, just to be safe, if ya want.”

Sam actually thinks it’s not a bad idea. “Back away,” he advises, and as soon as Benny does, Sam shoots twice, straight to the heart. If the shifter wasn’t dead before, he definitely is now.

“Satisfied?” Benny asks.

“Very.” Sam tucks his gun back into his waistband, and runs a hand over his face. “So I have to bring this body up, convince the police that _this_ is the killer so they let all the guys he framed go. Then I have to steal the body, so they don’t poke at it too hard and find anything they’re not supposed to. Piece of cake.”

“I can help with the body stealing,” Benny offers. “The rest, you’re on your own.”

Sam snorts. “Nice try. You have a suit?”

 

Benny does not, in fact, have a suit, so they have to buy him one. At the same time, Sam is getting an ID together for him. The situation is made all the more urgent by the body they have rotting away in Sam’s motel room, brought over wrapped tight in a tarp in the bed of Benny’s pickup.

Sam could do this without Benny. Having a _partner_ there makes this no easier or more legitimate than doing it on his own. But he doesn’t want to let Benny go. Not the least because the guy is self-admittedly off the wagon. But still. Sam has questions for him, and he doesn’t need Benny disappearing into the night.

“Got this place warded tight enough?” Benny says at the door.

Sam furrows his brow. “You can still get in, right?” he asks.

“Salt don’t repel me,” Benny says, carefully stepping over the line. “Did wonder for a minute, though, not gonna lie. What’s chasin’ you?”

Sam shakes his head. “Enough,” he says. “Get your suit on.”

While Benny changes, Sam finishes the ID, which will literally be hot off the press when Benny goes to use it. It looks good, though. Definitely convincing.

“Now for the hard part,” he says, handing the ID over his shoulder.

“Right,” Benny says. “Convincin’ them to let the other guys go.”

“Lucky for us,” Sam says dryly, putting his own tie back on, “I know enough about serial killers to bullshit our way through this.” He turns to look at Benny. “You get anything from the shifter, or were you just…”

“After his blood?” Benny asks, completing Sam’s thought. “Mostly, yeah. But I know his deal. Each girl, she turned him down. An’ to scum like him…”

“Right,” Sam says. “Howard Clancy his real name?” he asks.

Benny shrugs. “Hell if I know.”

“Mary was probably the most recent rejection,” Sam muses. “One too many, set him off. And then he, what, started going back? Taking revenge for old hurts, going back. Hell, probably back to high school.”

“So he’s local,” Benny surmises.

“He killed these girls for a reason,” Sam says. “Give me five minutes.”

He pulls out his laptop, setting up on the bed that doesn’t have a body on it. The wifi is slow to connect, but once it does, he does a little investigating, first digging through the archived local papers.

“He graduated here,” Sam says. “Under that name. Class of oh-one.” He clicks around for another minute, digging deeper into the archives. “Mom died when he was six. Home invasion.” Sam goes still for a minute. “Probably a hunter,” he says. “And she was probably the shifter.”

“His dad?” Benny asks.

Sam shrugs. “Doesn’t say much except he outlived her. Don’t know where he is now.”

“So, what does that leave us?” Benny wonders.

“The ability to put together a pretty good case,” Sam says. “C’mon. Stick him in the truck. But be _careful_.”

 

They make it out of the police station relatively unscathed, and Sam thinks their story is widely believed. If it means the killings stop--and the killings have now most definitely stopped--then Sam knows these people will be happy to believe anything.

He paints a picture for them. Antisocial, maladapted, jealous kid, doesn’t do well with others, takes every rejection to heart. Snaps with Mary George’s brush-off, follows her home, kills her, takes the boyfriend’s clothes as he leaves, some sort of trophy behavior, causing the confusion with the neighbor.

Sam shrugs. “Once he did it once, he must’ve thought, what would once more hurt? Bet he started looking back, every girl he sees as wronging him.”

He explains how Mary’s boyfriend gave them his name, and some routine questions led to an agitated suspect who slipped up enough for them to find the trophies in his house. “It’s all documented,” Sam says. “My partner, here, Agent Orwell, he does the pictures. We’ll send them over as soon as we get a better look.”

And then, of course, Howard Clancy, disturbed as he was, grabbed his gun. “Had to,” Sam says. “He would’ve shot us. We’ll take care of the paperwork.”

By the time they leave, Detective Prentiss is promising to call the DA to talk about the release of the accused men, and thankfully no one is questioning why they didn’t call a coroner for the body.

“That was…easy,” Benny says lowly as they walk out, eyes watching Sam intensely to the point where Sam worries he’s going to walk into a wall.

“Call that easy?” Sam asks. “I just made up so much shit…”

“But ya do it well,” Benny says, grinning. “Stealing the body back next?”

“Might as well,” Sam says, sighing. “I’ll distract the coroner. You take it, get it out. On my way out, I’ll make sure to sign it out, released to the funeral home.”

“This what you an’ that brother of yours do?” Benny asks. “Scrape by by the edge of your teeth like this?”

Sam still flinches a bit at the mention of Dean. “We used to,” he allows. “Not anymore.”

“Right. Haven’t seen him in two months,” Benny remembers. Then, “Wanna talk ‘bout it?”

“No. I wanna steal a body,” Sam says, and that’s the end of that.

 

Stealing a body from a small town morgue is easy, and soon enough, they’re in the woods, grave dug, body burning. They stand around and watch.

John always told him and Dean that it was to make sure the job got done right. Sam privately thinks it’s because hunters are so deeply steeped in the macabre, and like to see the fruits of their labor, however morbid they may be.

The smell still gets to him, a bit, he has to admit. He should have trained that out of himself decades ago.

Benny breaks the silence first. “We stickin’ ‘round so you can throw me in there next?”

Sam’s silent for a moment. Benny fell off the wagon. Monsters are supernaturals that kill, and they will always do it again. Once a killer, always a killer. Proof positive, right here.

“Do you kill the innocent?” he asks.

Benny hangs his head. “Before Purgatory. Both times. Back then, but ya know that. And, the person...they smelt so good, Sam. And I was alone, no one to hold back for. I lost it. He died. I regret it.” He pauses a second. “Regret ain’t worth much, I know.”

Maybe it’s worth enough. “Not since?” Sam asks.

“I’m a monster, Sam. But I don’t wanna be, not that kinda monster. I’ve found places to get it, when I need it real, not from some bag.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” Sam says. “Unless you start hurting people. I mean, people who don’t deserve it. But you’re not, so. I’m not going to kill you.”

“Mighty nice of ya,” Benny says. “Want me to disappear now?”

“No,” Sam says, a strange idea forming in his head. “You said having someone…helps, right? Keep you on the wagon?”

“Yeah,” Benny says slowly.

“What if I…I’m alone. I can’t give you Dean back. But I can…most motels are two beds,” Sam says.

“You askin’ me to ride along?” Benny says incredulously.

Sam shrugs. “You’ve been hunting. You found the shifter before I did. You’re good at it. And it’ll keep you on the wagon. Maybe…” he trails off.

“Maybe what?” Benny asks.

“Maybe it’ll keep me on the wagon, too,” Sam says quietly.

Benny doesn’t ask, not right then, and Sam’s grateful. Instead, they let the body burn down, then fill in the grave around the burnt embers. After that, Benny gets back in his truck and Sam back on his bike, and they take off.


	2. Chapter Two

Sam pulls off at a motel two hours up the highway, turning on his signal as soon as he spots the sign, giving Benny plenty of warning. The whole time, he’s felt Benny’s headlights on his back. It’s soothing, in a weird way. The first person following him that he wants.

Sam gets them a motel room. Two queens, far end of the block of rooms. He’s promised wifi, cable, and endless hot water.

Benny’s waiting outside his truck, leaning casually against the driver’s side door. “Room fifteen,” Sam says, throwing him a key. Benny deftly catches it.

Sam hoists his bags, then follows Benny into the room.

“You travel in style, I see,” Benny says dryly, looking around the garishly painted room.

Sam shrugs. “Thirty bucks a night. And wifi. Want a shower? You can have it, first.”

“Sure. Thanks,” Benny says. He leaves for the bathroom while Sam claims a bed, the one closest to the door, and begins setting the numerous wards. It takes a while, but it’s routine now. Salt down, demon traps down, anti-angel wards down.

When it’s all done, Benny’s back out of the bathroom, re-dressed in his clothes, but his cap is off. He tosses it onto the bed Sam left for him. “Ya done with that?” he asks.

Sam nods. “We’re good,” he says. “Nothing’s getting in.”

“An’ what exactly is comin’ for you?” Benny asks, arms crossed. “Since I’m stayin’ with ya. I feel like I should know.”

“Demons,” Sam says, voice sounding distant, like he’s listening to someone else speak. “They’re demons. Looking for me.”

“I know ya Winchesters tend to get yourselves in heaps of trouble. What happened?”

“I was born,” Sam says. “Apparently the King of Hell is looking for a new prize, and he’s an idiot who wants me.”

“An’ you’re running?” Benny asks.

Sam swallows. “Yeah. I’m running.”

“Not killing him?”

“I’m not going near any demons right now,” Sam says. “They might show up here. They find me every few days. We need to…we need to get you something to kill them with. An angel blade, I guess. I have one you can use. That’s the only way you’re killing a demon. Draining them won’t do anything but kill the host.”

“Right. I’ll take it,” Benny says.

Sam digs in his weapons bag for a second angel blade. He hands it over when he finds it. Benny grasps the hilt, looking Sam dead in the eyes. “Why do they want ya?” he says again.

Sam releases the blade. “I told you,” he says. “Crowley. The King of Hell. Wants me.”

“Why?” Benny presses.

“Because I’m a Winchester,” Sam says.

That, at least, seems to finally satisfy Benny. And it’s not entirely a lie. He’s a Winchester, and the Winchester line, the conversion of Mary and John, was what the angels and the demons needed for their war. It’s _because_ he’s a Winchester blood was dripped in his mouth at six months old, why Ruby was sent to get him to drink again more than twenty years later.

Benny nods. “Alright,” he says. “Think we can handle some demons. They can’t get in?”

Sam shakes his head. “A Knight of Hell, maybe,” he says. “But haven’t seen her in a while. She’s not taking orders from the King, so I doubt she wants me.”

“We’re all set to get some sleep, then.”

Sam nods. The two of them get into bed, and Benny reaches over to turn off the light.

It’s odd, to lie there with another person in the room, another person’s breath filling the air. It shouldn’t be weird, considering Sam spent most of his life like this. But something about it is jarring, like it’s pressing at some part of him.

Things settle back into place eventually, and, when Sam shakes awake around dawn, he realizes he actually managed to sleep.

 

They stop at a nearby diner the next day for breakfast at Benny’s insistence. Benny isn’t eating, of course, but he watches intently while Sam orders. It’s a little uncomfortable, honestly. But Sam remembers the guy working in a restaurant, despite not being able to eat anymore. Maybe food is just a thing for him.

As soon as Sam has two sunny-side up eggs and toast and coffee in front of him and the waitress walks away, Benny leans closer across the table and starts to talk in a low voice. “Look, I wasn’t gonna bring it up. But I gotta know, Sam. Yesterday, you mentioned--well, said you were on the wagon. I gotta know with what.”

“Why?” Sam asks, instantly on the defense, gripping his fork tightly.

Benny rolls his eyes. “Why? Hard ta help someone stay on the wagon, if ya don’t know what you’re keepin’ them away from.”

“I’ve been clean for years,” Sam says, now poking at his egg. The yoke runs everywhere.

“Then why’re you thinkin’ ‘bout it now?” Benny challenges. “Somethin’ brought it back up.”

Sam sighs. The damn vampire is not going to leave him alone, not going to focus on his own problems. “It’s the demons,” Sam says.

“What? They tryin’a sell ya crack?” Benny asks.

Sam stares at him, slowly realizing. “Dean never told you,” he says.

“Told me what?”

Sam shakes his head. “Nothing. I should have realized…of course he wouldn’t. He doesn’t talk about it unless it serves a purpose, and he didn’t need it to warn you away from me or anything. I just thought…I’m not used to people not knowing,” Sam admits. “Seems like most everyone knows.”

“Know _what?_ ” Benny asks again, clearly becoming impatient. Sam can’t blame him, with all this circular talking. Still, at least Benny still has the courtesy to keep his voice low.

“I’m addicted to demon blood,” Sam says lowly, so lowly. The words feel like knives coming out of his throat, but at the same time, it is, in some way, freeing to get to say them himself for once. “Have been for years. Been clean a while, but…the demons want me to drink. God knows why, I’m stronger on it, can kill them with…with my mind,” Sam says. “But that’s what’s going on. They’re trying to get me hooked again, then drag me to Crowley. That’s the score.”

“Blood, huh?” Benny says, and Sam doesn’t have to make eye-contact to know that Benny is studying him.

Sam nods. “Blood.”

“Well, at least we got that in common,” Benny says. Then, “Eat your eggs. They’re gonna get cold.”

Sam stares for a moment, but does listen and eats a few bites of egg and toast. “If I get on it, I can kill them,” Sam says. “Demons, I mean. It gives me…powers. But it’s a drug. It does… well. It’s an addiction. It’s bad for me.”

Sam thinks of Bobby’s panic room. The whole house caved on top of it. But the panic room was iron and steel, solid, unbreachable. It probably still stands, if he should have need of it.

He’s not going to need it.

Benny nods, moving the mug of coffee he isn’t drinking around the formica tabletop. “Okay.”

“But it’s not gonna happen,” Sam says, as if Benny even implied that it would. “It’s been years. I’m okay.”

“Ain’t no shame in being worried ‘bout those demons chasin’ you down with the drug ya crave,” Benny says.

Sam stabs his egg particularly hard. “Who asked you?” he demands. He knows right away it’s aggressive, sour, uncalled for. Benny is just trying to help. More than that, he’s trying to understand a situation Sam put him in.

“No one, I guess,” Benny says. “‘Scuse me. Gonna go pay for your food.” He gets up to leave the table.

Sam sighs into his eggs. He knows it’s wrong to snap at Benny, to take his emotions out on a misplaced target. He’s not Dean, he’s not Crowley, he’s not Gadreel, not any of the demons hunting Sam down. He’s not heaven or hell or anything else. He’s just a vampire, looking to do the right thing, and Sam dragged him along.

Still, Sam can’t quite make his fingers loosen around his fork.

Benny takes his sweet time at the cash register, but he does come back. Sam was worried for a minute that he would wait in the car. Or leave altogether.

Sam slides his plate away--half-eaten, but nonetheless done--and pulls his bag closer to himself, tugging his laptop out.

“What’re ya doin’?” Benny asks, and Sam internally winces to hear the trepidation in his voice.

“Looking for a hunt,” he says. “You’ll need one soon, right?”

Benny shrugs. “Twice a week, I need somethin’. That’s as long as I can go. Bagged blood does the trick, most of the time. The hunts are only for…” He doesn’t finish, but Sam gets it. Only for when the cravings overwhelm him, when they could push him to go after someone who deserves it less.

“Yeah, well, I’m a hunter,” Sam says, the word tasting funny on his tongue. “I hunt. So I can get you what you need.”

He can feel Benny’s stare, even as he stares at his computer. “C’mon,” he mutters to the machine, watching the glacial wifi take its sweet time pulling his searches up.

“Got it,” he says, scanning the article. “Children…” he swallows. “They’re going to the lake, walking there like the pied piper called them or something. And they’re going in, and not coming out. Four, so far.”

“What is it?” Benny asks.

Sam shrugs, already pulling up the database Charlie designed. “Water spirit? We’re seen an angry ghost before, bullied kid drowned to death, drowning others, looking for a friend. Or a Tommy Rawhead, also known as a Bloody Bones. Rawheads that somehow mutated to live underwater, they lure kids in and grab them once they get there. Myth says they bring them back to their lair, and they…well, I assume they drown, and god knows what the Rawhead does with the bodies. Usually, they aren’t seen again.”

“So, we’re headed to…” Benny prompts.

“Missouri,” Sam says.

 

They arrive in Missouri eleven hours later, with a lunch stop squeezed in the middle. Sam’s tired from the long ride--the bike is great, he loves it, really, but there is something to be said for not supporting the entire weight of one’s transportation for nine and a half hours of driving--and just wants to sleep.

Instead, he wards the place to high heaven. Benny watches carefully over his shoulders, clearly taking mental notes. “It’s not hard,” Sam supplies. “Just a lot of steps, and they all have to be done right. Don’t smudge the chalk, don’t break the salt lines.”

“Righ’,” Benny says, nodding as he lays back on his bed. “Think they’ll show up?”

“Haven’t seen them in almost a week,” Sam says. “If we’re here more than two days, I’d bet on it.”

“Hmm,” Benny acknowledges. “What do they do? Just…offer ya their blood?”

Sam nods. “Cut themselves. Let the smell hit the air. Uhm, their hosts are human, so just…be prepared for that. Okay?”

“I’ll be good, Sam,” Benny promises. “And you?”

“I can manage it,” Sam says tightly. He’s had it poured into his mouth before and spat it out, he’s sure he can handle it. It’s just so _much_ , the regular assault, the regular denial.

He can handle it. He always does.

Sam sets his laptop on the rickety table. One leg is shorter than the other, and it keeps rocking. He gets onto the internet, and starts combing the town archives for drowning deaths.

His brow furrows. Usually, it takes a while to find the information he needs, but today he’s not having that problem. There’s too much information, really.

“Every seven years,” Sam says. “Usually just two or three, though. Passed off as late season skating accidents, or kids just fooling around.”

“Why so many this year?” Benny asks.

Sam shrugs. “Anniversary year? Spawning year? Got the munchies this time around? Who knows.”

“So it’s one a’ those Tommy Rawheads?” Benny asks.

Sam shrugs again. “Spirits don’t tend to keep schedules like this. Some do, though,” he says, thinking back. It definitely does happen, sometimes. “Give me an hour.”

He doesn’t find any drownings that seem to happen in circumstances that might create a child-drowning spirit that pre-date the drowning sets. He doesn’t find any strange disappearances that could lead to an angry spirit.

“Probably a Tommy Rawhead,” Sam announces, looking over to Benny, who’s lounging on the bed. “No spirits that I can find. I need a map.”

That takes another minute to find a really good map of the lake. He studies it carefully when he finds it, poking around every nook and cranny. “Here,” he says, stabbing one finger down.

Benny comes up behind him to take a look. “What?” he asks.

“Tommy Rawheads aren’t mermaids, or kelpies,” Sam says. “They use bodies of water to kill their victims, but they don’t breathe underwater. I’m pretty sure they take the bodies back to home bases, small caves. And here’s one. Isolated, opens straight into the water. Worth checking out.”

“How do we kill it?” Benny asks.

“Electricity kills Rawheads,” Sam says. “I’m pretty sure beheading should do the trick too. And, you know, your thing. Traumatic blood loss kills a lot of things.”

Benny nods. “Let’s go,” he says.

 

Benny steals a boat, grins, and says, “Trust me, _Cher_. Boats are my thing.”

Sam pretends not to hear the endearment, busying himself fiddling with their weapons to hide his blush.

They have two tasers, but Sam’s leery about using them if the ground in this cave is as wet as it might be. He will never, ever forget what happened to Dean. He shivers a bit, just thinking about it.

Sam has a machete to make up for any lack of tasing ability. Benny has his teeth and a grin. “You’ve never really seen what these can do,” he says. “Trust me. I’m good. An’ I’ll get my fill.”

Benny navigates them through the water easily, and soon enough they’re bobbing by the cave. Benny runs the boat up onto the rocks, and looks sideways at Sam. “End’a the line.”

Sam nods and jumps out first, his boots and the legs of his jeans immediately soaked in six or so inches of standing water. He moves forward, boots heavy with water and dragging him back. And then something latches onto his ankle.

“Benny!” he yelps, already being dragged back towards deeper water. He plants his legs, tries to stand still, but it has a good grip on him, and it’s strong. He grips his machete tighter, but he can’t see what he’s attacking, leaving him next to defenseless.

Benny jumps out of the boat, aiming right behind Sam. He grapples for a minute, and the pull on Sam only gets stronger.

Then it slacks off. Benny pulls up the body, and Sam turns to take a look. It’s definitely a Tommy Rawhead, or it looks like the images Sam’s managed to find. Rotting skin which looks like it’s almost about to fall away, topped with stringy, matted hair, all on a tall, imposing frame. The hands and feet have adapted with webbing, to give the creature an edge in the water. The head hangs at an odd angle; the neck is broken, Sam realizes.

Benny doesn’t waste any time, not even to check on Sam, not even to remind Sam that he owes Benny now. He sets in on his meal, sucking the Tommy Rawhead dry.

It takes him a few minutes, during which Sam just stands around and waits. It should bother him more, he thinks. And it does bother him, a little bit. They’re not supposed to let vampires live, least of all vampires that feed. But mostly Sam just thinks that Benny needs to eat, and of the dozens of children this Rawhead murdered.

When Benny’s done, the body looks lighter. He holds his face up, a speck or two of blood lingering around his mouth. His fangs retract. “Time to poke ‘round inside?” he asks.

Sam nods. If there are bodies, they need to take care of them. If there are living children--well, Sam doubts that there are. All the lore says the Tommy Rawheads hold their victims under until they drown, and then bring them back to eat. But if there are any--

He has a machete in one hand, a taser in the other. Benny dumps the body into their boat, then follows Sam inside the cave.

The water tapers off, until they’re walking on mostly dry ground. Sam wishes he had a flashlight. He’d need an extra hand to even hold one, he supposes.

“The fuck?” Benny mutters.

Sam’s eyes adjust, and he sees at least a faint imprint of what Benny sees.

The Tommy Rawhead looks smaller than the other, and almost confused. But it has something hanging from its mouth, and Sam realizes with disgust that it’s part of a child.

The monster recognizes them as a threat at the same time Sam realizes what he’s seeing, and it lunges towards them. Sam comes out to meet it, swinging his machete.

Even despite the dark, his aim is true, years of practice behind every swing. The head separates from the body. Just to be sure, Sam takes his taser and electrocutes it.

He wipes the blood from his face. “Sorry,” he says, gesturing to the headless body that’s already lost quite a bit of blood.

Benny shrugs. “I’m well fed,” he says. “Ya good?”

“Fine,” Sam says, heaving breaths. “Well. Guess we figured out why so many.”

Benny nods. “She had a baby.”

Sam starts to look around. There are bodies and bones, but not a living child. Not even a whole child. His stomach twists.

“We should burn everything,” he says heavily, looking away from the worst of the mess.

Benny nods and goes back to the boat to get the other body, leaving Sam to gather up everything else.

Benny also returns with the extra gas from the boat, and they douse the pile before throwing a lighter on, walking out of the cave with fire licking at their heels. The stench of bodies fills the air.

Benny pushes the boat off the rocks, and they just bob there in the lake, watching the fire burn the cave bright orange.

 

They make it back to shore without speaking much at all. When Benny ties them off at the dock they took the boat from, the silence is broken abruptly.

“Long night, Sammy boy? Made us wait long enough.”

Sam gropes for the angel blade he left rolling around under the seat, and pulls it close to him before he even looks up.

Five demons. They’re sending more and more every time now.

But Sam has numbers on his side now too. He sees Benny pick up his own angel blade from the corner of his eye.

“Got a bodyguard now, Sammy?” the lead demon asks. She smiles, the twisted grin marring the face of the middle-aged woman she’s wearing. “He gonna keep you _safe_?”

Benny stands up tall, angel blade clutched in one hand. Sam has been thinking how small Benny is, in comparison to himself, or even to Dean, but right now, he seems to loom large, his broad shoulders and chest obvious as he stands against the demons.

“I’m gonna try,” Benny growls.

Sam flushes, and the demon _laughs._ “Well, about time someone did, I suppose,” she allows. “Sammy, you know _we_ want to take care of you. You didn’t need to go find a vampire.”

Sam sighs. “Just get on with it,” he says. “Unless your new plan is to bore me into a stupor.”

“Way ahead of you, baby,” she says, just as the smell hits Sam’s nose. “Come and get it.”

Sam breathes through his mouth. “You think that’ll do anything to me?” he asks incredulously. “That you can do something all the others who’ve tried can’t? C’mon. You want me, take me.” He spreads his arms wide, blade still clasped in one fist.

“If you insist,” she says. “Boys. Take him. Give him what he wants.”

They move quickly, and the boat starts to rattle. Sam immediately jumps out, Benny right behind him, and Benny catches the first demon on his angel blade.

The lead demon laughs. “Spill their blood! Go on! See how he handles it.”

It _is_ strong, but it doesn’t stop Sam from stabbing the next one, then turning away from the bleeding, blackened wound.

Sam’s been killing demons for years, even through his addiction, his recovery. He hasn’t given in in almost half a decade. He’ll always notice the smell, always remember what it can do for him, but he’s stronger than it. He doesn’t know what they think they’re going to accomplish, what Crowley thinks he’s playing at here.

Strong arms wrap around him, one pinning his arms to his sides, knocking the angel blade from his grip, the other up at his throat. Something wet rubs against his skin. _Blood_.

Benny too seems to have been grabbed by strong arms holding him in place. He’s struggling, but two demons seem to be a match for his strength.

The arm around his neck snakes up so the slit wrist presses to his mouth. “That’s it,” she breathes. “Take what you want, Sam.”

Sam keeps his lips firmly pressed closed, refuses to breathe. She’s left his feet free, and he can’t move his arms, but he still has his hands.

Demons aren’t soft like humans. They can’t be taken down by the stunning pain of a hit to a delicate area. But they can be stunned while the meatsuit reacts, even if only for a second. And Sam only needs a second.

He takes her out at the knee and grabs the fallen angel blade. He turns, stabs.

Benny too seems to have worked himself free, but he’s fighting like a vampire, all teeth and claws, blood and mess. Sam stops breathing and goes to finish the demons off, until all that’s left is the bodies and the blood spilling out.

Benny’s chest is heaving, but he seems to be calming down. “You got blood. Here,” he says, gesturing to the lower portion of his own face.

Sam bends down, wets his hand in the water, and rubs at his face. He wipes it dry on one of the demons’ jackets. “Done?” he asks. It’s still sitting on his skin, he can feel it, absorbing in. But Benny nods, so at least he looks clean.

“So, that’s it then,” Benny says.

Sam nods. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s them.”

“Ya didn’t drink,” Benny notes.

Sam shrugs. “I told you. I’m clean.” He looks around. “We should get out of here, before someone comes to check it out.”

They bail, getting back in Benny’s truck. Sam shifts. It’s odd, not to be on the bike. But he left it at the motel, so they could both take the truck. It’s just for practical reasons. Gas is expensive, and it’s hard to hide multiple vehicles.

It’s nice, though, to have company, especially right now. Even if they’re not talking.

Thankfully, they’re not far from the motel. Sam pushes open the door and forces himself to check the wards, making sure they'll hold through the night. All he wants is a shower, although the reasonable part of himself knows he'd rather not have unwelcome visitors in the night.

Sam doesn’t offer Benny the shower, doesn’t even say a word, just heads immediately into the bathroom as soon as the last ward is laid.

The water is hot, even, when he first gets in, which is a relief. He lets it wash it all away, the sweat and the grime and most especially the blood.

The water is running cold when he gets out, and any other day he would feel bad about that, but today he can’t summon the energy. He dries off using one of the thin motel towels, and then realizes that he forgot his clothes.

Sighing, he ties the towel around his hips and opens the door.

Benny’s lying on his bed again. “You feelin’ better?” he asks, not looking up.

“A bit,” Sam says honestly, grabbing his bag and throwing it on the bed so he can dig through it.

Benny sits up. “‘M glad,” he says. He finally looks over at Sam just as Sam pulls out his underwear. “Well, hell,” he mutters. Sam isn’t sure he was meant to hear it, but he does nonetheless.

Sam flushes. He lost a lot of weight, a lot of muscle, during the Trials. He knows he doesn’t look great, although he thought one good thing about Gadreel was his helping Sam’s body gain some muscle back.

He finds sweatpants and a t-shirt and then turns around. Benny’s still staring, eyes half-lidded. Sam shifts. On anyone else, _for_ anyone else, Sam might classify that as…

Desire.

“I used all the hot water,” Sam blurts. “Sorry.”

Benny’s eyes snap up, focusing on Sam’s face. “No problem,” he says, and Sam is sure he must be imagining how Benny’s voice is rough and lower. “I can wait.”

Sam grabs his clothes into a tight bundle and practically runs back into the bathroom, almost losing his towel along the way.

When he’s dressed, covered, and able to hide himself, he re-emerges. Benny’s using his laptop, and Sam bites his lip.

“Sorry,” Benny says. “Realized I got my meal today, but ya didn’t. We can get pizza here.”

“Vegetarian,” Sam says tiredly, wondering if he has enough money in his wallet to pay for a delivery as he collapses onto the bed.

“Got it,” Benny says, fiddling with the computer for another minute. He looks up and grins. “Gettin’ pretty good with these things,” he says.

Sam snorts, then pauses. The rush of humor is a surprise. And he might kill it by thinking about it too long, so he lets himself go and feel it.

“You even have electricity when you died?” he teases.

Benny looks delighted. “I died in 1963, youngster,” he says. “”Less you’re talkin’ ‘bout as a human. Then 1904, an’ no we didn’t have fancy electricity at home.”

Sam closes his eyes. “What’s it like?” he asks. “To live so long, watch the world change around you?”

Benny’s quiet for a minute. “Lonely,” he finally says. “Too fast, sometimes. Hard to keep up.”

Sam laughs emptily. “I’m thousands of years old, and the world hasn’t changed at all. Just me. Wonder which is worse.”

“You’re real good lookin’ for such a geezer,” Benny says.

“So’re you,” Sam replies.

“‘M serious. What gives, Sam?”

Sam shrugs, eyes closed still. “Hell time moves fast. Cage time moves even faster. I was there for eighteen months. Not much changed, except me.” He pauses. “Dean and I. I guess. Not that he trusted me before I went in, but, well, I left. And that’s unforgivable to him. I needed to be watched. Things went downhill.”

“What happened, Sam?” Benny asks. “I know why he tossed me. But you’re clean. Why’re you out?”

“I left,” Sam says insistently. “Because I learned Dean shoved an angel inside me without my consent. Let the angel wipe my brain. All so I wouldn’t leave him again.” He opens his eyes. “And I kicked the angel out. After six months. Dean didn’t want to deal with what he did, so he left. He probably expected me to be waiting, but I’m done. Just…no more.”

“I understand,” Benny says. “That’s…awful. Any lastin' damage?”

Sam shakes his head. “That’s the problem. The angel made me stronger. Those Trials, Benny. The ones we went to Purgatory for. They were killing me. And Gadreel made me strong again. But he also…he had his own agenda, and he killed Kevin and a handful of others. Using my body. Not to mention wiping my mind, and taking over my body, and just…being here. I didn’t invite him. I would _never_ say yes to possession. Never again. But Dean didn’t care. Me dying was leaving, and that wasn’t allowed." Sam's face twists into something uncharacteristically bitter. "He'll do whatever it takes, you know. To keep the world how he thinks it should be."

"Yeah," Benny agrees quietly. "I know."

Sam sighs. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to revive the conversation. Trust him to make it morbid and uncomfortable, he thinks. As if today wasn't bad enough.

There's a knock then. Sam fishes out his wallet as he's walking to the door, handing over one rumpled twenty, telling the kid to keep the change as he shifts the pizza box onto one arm.

Sam sets the pizza on the bed and sighs. “I can’t eat all of this myself,” he says.

“Big guy like you? Sure ya can,” Benny says.

Sam shakes his head. “I don’t eat like my brother,” he says. What an understatement. He pauses for half a moment. “I guess I’m not much like him at all.”

“Not a bad thing,” Benny says.

Sam opens his mouth to share how _of course_ it’s a bad thing, because Dean is family and loyalty and honor, fun and hard work, charm and dedication, perseverance and some pure level of masculinity Sam himself can simply never achieve.

He doesn’t get to clarify this for Benny, though. The door bursts open.

“Tut, tut,” says the mock-stern demon. “Pizza boy smudged the salt line. I hope you didn’t tip him, service like that.”

Sure enough, he steps into the room, making an exaggerated move over the line. Sam falls back involuntarily.

His angel blade is mere feet away, but it’s too far to grab without lunging. He’s all but defenseless.

Benny doesn’t seem to have the same issue. He’s on his feet, angel blade in hand, in a second, already snarling at the intruder.

Before Benny ordered the pizza, he must have studied the room’s defenses. He charges at the demon, rather skillfully herding him back into the waiting devil’s trap.

The demon roars when he realizes he can’t move, frantically looking down. “Stained the carpet,” Sam says. “Invisible ink. Can’t see it, but it’s there. And you’re stuck.”

The demon snarls again, then tries to compose himself. “Didn’t think you’d be so prepared.”

Sam thinks about that. It’s a rather odd remark, coming from one of Crowley’s demons. Crowley, who always has a contingency and has made a habit of not underestimating the Winchesters.

Benny charges into the devil’s trap, pinning the demon with one large hand and placing the angel blade at his throat with the other. “What’s Crowley want with Sam?” he demands, fangs bared, displaying a shocking amount of ferocity. Sam grabs his own angel blade, too late, and just holds it, as if he’s waiting.

The demon laughs. _“Crowley_?” he asks. “You’re behind the times.”

“Abaddon, then,” Sam says, heart thudding the way it does when he’s missing things, behind, slow. He can’t see what Abaddon would want with him--sure, he cut her to pieces, lit her on fire, all of that, but he can’t see why he’s a big target to her, not to warrant this.

“Abaddon?” he scoffs. “You’re really out of the loop, huh Sammy boy? I suppose it’s to be expected, with you trying so hard to avoid us when we bring news.”

“When you attack me, you mean,” Sam says.

“When we bring you our offer,” the demon corrects. His black eyes sparkle, even despite the blade still at his throat. “There’s a new king on the throne, Sammy, and is he interested in you.”

“Who?” Sam asks, throat dry, thinking through potential demons he’s pissed off.

“Your brother, Sammy boy,” the demon says, face twisted into the ecstatic pleasure demons get when delivering truly horrible news. “First he was the Torturer’s Apprentice, the Righteous Man. Then he was a Knight, and what a glorious, bloody Knight he was. And now,” the demon concludes, infinitely satisfied, “he’s the King.”

Sam’s mouth goes completely dry.

Benny digs the blade into the demon’s throat a bit. “You’re lyin’,” he says. Sam nods. The demon must be. Dean is not--Dean has always been the _furthest_ thing from a demon. He’s the Righteous Man.

The demon shakes his head, heedless of the blade. “Funny thing about demons,” he says. “We love telling the truth. Almost always do. You can’t imagine how much the truth hurts.” He flashes a grin at Sam. “Well. Maybe you can.”

Sam’s mouth is still dry, but he forces out the question. “How?”

“That’s a good story,” the demon agrees. “Your brother, he’s uniquely qualified, see. Murder and self-righteousness, all wrapped up deliciously inside him. We knew for years, of course. But we thought he was heaven’s puppet.” The demon grins directly at Sam again. “Guess we were watching the wrong Winchester, all these years. We thought it’d be your crown, Sammy boy, but you squandered it. Your brother wasn’t so stupid.”

Sam ignored that. “How?” he demands again.

“Ever heard of the Mark of Cain?” the demon asks. “Of course you have. One thing the King mentioned. You’re a know-it-all, aren’t you?”

Sam’s brain is racing. The Mark of Cain. Sam knows his Genesis, he knows Cain’s fall and God’s punishment, but…

Sam wants to sigh, to roll his eyes, to _scream_. Of course it’s real. It always is.

“Tell me more,” he demands, and he can hear himself, can barely believe that that’s his voice.

The demon grins, a flashing, blinding white smile that wouldn’t look out of place on a movie star. “Tell ya what,” the demon proposes. “Why don’t you ask him to explain it himself? The King’s tired of you ignoring his messages, Sammy boy. He’s come to talk to you. Impatient, he is. But you’re his brother, and he’s been looking for you. I’m sure all will be forgiven.” The grin widens. “Right?”

Sam feels the blood drain from his face. “We have to go,” he says. “Right now.”

The demon nods. “You know the trouble with your devils trap?” he asks conversationally. “Flimsy. And your attack guard here smudged it right up. Now, excuse me. My King is expecting me.”

He throws open his mouth and smokes out. The smoke is out the door in seconds.

“Now,” Sam repeats. “We have to go right now.”

Benny nods, taking one last look at the body he’s still pinning in place. Sam looks too, for good measure. Still twitching. He dials 9-1-1, then leaves the phone off the hook. Someone will come. Whether they beat Dean there or not--whether Dean even shows up, whether he assumes he chased Sam into running--Sam doesn’t know.

They grab their things, and are out the door in less than two minutes.


	3. Chapter Three

 Sam hates having left the bike behind, but traveling separately is the last thing he wants to do. Not to mention the fact that he’s shaking so badly he’s not actually convinced he could keep the bike upright if he tried.

Benny drives, and Sam shakes. They don’t say anything for miles, just putting distance between themselves and the motel.

Benny breaks the silence first. “God damn hell,” he seethes. “You think it’s true?”

“I have to research the Mark of Cain,” Sam says, voice distant, in place of answering. “I know what it is, biblically, but in the real world…I don’t get what it has to do with this. With what the demon said. I need to get somewhere where I can do research.” He suddenly realizes that the Bunker must be deserted. At the very least, it can be made demon proof. And it’s full of books.

He didn’t want to go back after what happened, still doesn’t. Some part of himself sees it ending, like it always does, him back with Dean, them trying again, walking on even more fragile eggshells around his brother this time. But back, because that’s how it always works. The other part of himself was convinced that this time was it. He was free of this forever, never going back, never putting himself back into that. Either way, going back to the Bunker isn’t a pleasant thought.

This isn’t a day for pleasant thoughts.

“Head to Kansas,” he instructs listlessly. “We’ll go to the Bunker, sort it out there.”

“You think it’s the truth, then?” Benny asks.

“Demons lie,” Sam acknowledges. “Except when the truth hurts worse.”

He doesn’t know, has no idea if it’s true or not. But it’s a bold lie to tell, and Sam’s sure a demon would be more reluctant to renounce loyalties to Crowley, unless the former King really is dead. He swallows. “It’s true,” he says. “My brother is the King of Hell. He’s after me. And I need to read about the Mark of Cain.”

“Do you realize…your brother is the one…tryn’a get you hooked?”

Sam nods. Yes, he’s realized. He’s definitely realized.

“Should call Jody,” Sam says instead of thinking about it. “Warn her. She should be prepared.”

“What ‘bout Feathers?” Benny asks.

“Him too. If Dean didn’t get to him already.”

On that morbid note, Benny presses the truck forward faster. Sam thinks about the warding he can put up, and the research he wants to do.

 

Warding the Bunker takes the better part of four hours, and Sam’s just grateful for it because it’s distracting, means he doesn’t have to think about where he actually is. He needs to be sure, needs to make sure every inch of this place is warded, protected to the hilt.

Benny looks at him, watching from the doorway, arms crossed, as Sam wipes the blood off his hands from the very last sigil.

“Sorry,” Sam says hoarsely. “This bothering you?”

Benny shakes his head. “Still well fed,” he promises. “Ya need to sleep, Sam.”

Sam shakes his head. “I need to research,” he says. “The Mark of Cain. I have to figure out what’s going on.”

“Ya need _sleep_ ,” Benny repeats. “Look at ya. Pale as a ghost. Still shakin’. You ain’t helpin’ yourself.”

Sam sighs. He wants to argue, but Benny’s right. He still hasn’t stopped shaking, minor tremors wracking his body. Frankly, it’s a miracle that he didn’t mess up the wards, and keeping going any longer is just tempting fate.

“Alright,” he agrees reluctantly. Then suddenly he realizes how rude he’s been. “Let me show you ‘round first,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Get you a bedroom.”

“One near yours?” Benny asks.

Sam shrugs. “If you want.” Why he would want, Sam doesn’t know, but the idea is not at all unattractive. Benny, right there. Maybe it’s just about not being alone. Maybe. It’s certainly part of it, at any rate.

“I do,” Benny says, smiling. He steps close and squeezes Sam’s shoulder. “Lead on.”

So Sam leads them down the hall, past the bathroom, four storage rooms, Dean’s room, a bank of old computers, and on. Finally, he stops. “This is mine,” he says. “There’s one on either side. Blankets are in the closets.”

Benny crosses his arms again. “No offense, Sam. But from what I know, you’re liable to walk off an’ go straight back to work the minute my back is turned. Inta bed with ya.”

Sam huffs, but can’t dispute it. He pushes open the door, revealing a dusty, half empty room. “Home sweet home,” he says.

Benny looks around but doesn’t say anything, which Sam appreciates. Realizing he’s not going to be left alone, Sam sighs and gets ready for bed.

Benny looks at him under the blankets and smiles. “G’night, Sam,” he says. He moves to turn off the light.

“Stay,” Sam says quietly. He doesn’t know what makes him say it. It’s so ludicrous, so demanding, and so _what_ if Benny soothes the shakes, eases his mind, makes everything strangely more comfortable.

“Alright,” Benny says easily. “Budge up.”

Sam does, and a minute later Benny crawls into bed. It’s not that big a bed, and they have to press close. Sam spends half a minute trying to leave space between them before giving up and letting their bodies lie where they will. “Get some sleep,” Benny says quietly.

Amazingly, Sam does.

 

He wakes up, and he doesn’t know how many hours he’s slept. More than he usually does recently, he knows.

He also feels arms around him. That alone is enough to make him tense up. It’s Benny, he’s aware enough to sort that out, but how did they end up here, moving from casually touching to intertwined?

Benny’s arms tighten around him. “Shh,” he mumbles. “You smell tense. It’s wakin’ me up. Wakin’ you up too.”

“You can smell that?”

“Feel it too,” Benny says, voice still tired. “Ya need to get up, or ya good?”

“I’m good,” Sam says.

“Mmmm,” Benny hums, contented, and he falls back asleep.

Sam doesn’t fall back asleep nearly so easily, but he stays still. Benny isn’t warm, but he isn’t cold, either. The blankets keep them warm enough, and Sam finds himself incredibly comfortable. So comfortable, in fact, that his eyes slip closed again.

 

Once they finally get up--after a moment of somewhat awkward shuffling and lack of eye-contact--Sam sets to researching The Mark of Cain. It’s a Bible story. But maybe…maybe there’s something else behind it.

Benny shows up at one point, his footfalls heavier than usual. “Got no food in this place,” he grumbles.

“You don’t eat,” Sam says absently, flipping through a big old book.

“You do,” Benny counters, setting a plate in front of Sam. “Canned an’ packaged goods. Can last a few days this way. Not my best, but it’ll do. Have to go shopping soon.”

“Sure,” Sam says, then winces. “Have to be careful, though. We’re safe in here, but outside…” he trails off, looking up. Benny nods, getting it.

“Thanks for the food,” Sam adds quietly.

Benny squeezes his shoulder. “Anytime,” he says. “Eat up. It’ll only be tolerable fresh.”

So Sam eats one-handed, continuing his research with the other. He doesn’t find much, really. There is word that Cain might be a demon. A Knight of Hell, probably. There’s no word on this Mark outside the Biblical context. There’s no word as to how he could have given it to Dean.

Sam sets his research aside. He has a lot of phone calls to make.

Cas, then Jody. He just calls to deliver warnings, to tell them that Dean is worse than compromised. He doesn’t mean to ask anything of them. This is his mess to clean up.

Both promise to be at his door within a few days. It’s a stunning display, really, and it leaves Sam more than a little touched.

“All good?” Benny asks.

Sam nods. “We’re going to have guests.”

“The more the merrier,” Benny says. “Think they can help?”

Sam shrugs. “If I can come up with a plan.”

“Well, they’ll be safe here, anyways. That’s somethin’.”

Sam nods. Yes. If he can stop Dean from killing the people they care about--but why, he thinks, are his friends more important than the other people Dean will undoubtedly kill?

Bottom line, Sam thinks, is he needs to stop Dean. Completely.

He needs to save his brother. He needs to save everyone.

He turns back to his research, fervent dedication overtaking him as he pours through text after text.

 

Benny leans against the table, watching Sam. “Time for bed again,” he says gently.

Sam shakes his head. “I have more books.”

“They’ll be there tomorrow,” Benny says. “It’s late. I’m exhausted, an’ I haven’t been workin’ as hard as you. C’mon.”

Sighing, Sam gives up. He _is_ exhausted. That’s never been an excuse to stop before, but living with Benny seems to be different in a hundred different ways.

He walks with Benny down the corridor. Some anxiety starts to grip him, and he can’t explain it, not until he grabs Benny’s arm outside of his own room. The gesture was all instinct, no conscious thought behind it, but he knows what he wants to say.

“Stay tonight?” he asks, voice so quiet Sam’s shocked it manages to bridge the distance between them. But Benny nods.

“Course,” Benny says. “Let’s go.”

They end up in bed together again. This time, Benny moves straight to wrapping his arms around Sam. Neither of them say anything, but Sam sleeps better than even last night.

 

Sam wakes up with arms around him again, and it only takes a few seconds to sort out why.

Benny. He’s in bed with Benny again. Benny’s pressed against his back, arms around him. He lets his eyes close. It feels too good to risk ruining by waking up.

Benny’s arm gently tightens around him. “Know you’re awake,” he mutters. “You gonna run out on me again this mornin’?”

Sam opens his mouth, not even sure what he wants to say, but sure he has to say something.

“‘S okay if ya wanna,” Benny continues, not giving Sam a chance to attempt to string words together. “I get it. No worries.”

“You don’t want me to?” Sam manages to ask.

“Not ‘bout what I want,” Benny says.

“Well, it’s part of it.”

Benny sighs. “I don’ want ya to leave. Ta ignore this. But it’s up to you.”

Sam turns. Benny, perhaps taking Sam’s motion as an indication he wants out, immediately lets go. But Sam just turns on his side so he’s facing Benny.

He looks over the vampire, who’s watching Sam back. He has warm eyes, and he’s not showing it right now, but Sam remembers his soft smile.

He’s been thinking about Benny too much, probably. They’re holding each other together. They’re sharing a damn bed.

Then again, maybe by what Benny’s saying, he’s focusing on Benny exactly the right amount.

“What’s up to me?” he asks cautiously.

Benny smiles softly. “Think ya know, Sam. You, me, this--I think you’re somethin’ great. If that means anything to ya.”

“Why me?” he asks.

“Benny shrugs one broad shoulder. “Why not?” he counters. “You’re smart, an’ good, an’ here.”

“Oh,” Sam says, pulling back. Because he’s here, which would mean Benny will leave him behind as soon as someone better comes along.

“No,” Benny says. “Ya don’t get it. You’re here. With me. Even when--even when I’m like this. A vampire. I ain’t a peach, Sam. I drink blood to survive, I kill, I know what I am, an’ you do too. But ya invited me in. Let me stay. An’ it counts for a lot. It ain’t sayin’ anythin’ bad about you. The opposite, really.”

“Oh,” Sam says, a little stunned. He didn’t expect that at all. “It’s not that big a deal.”

Benny’s smile is crooked. “It is, an’ ya know it.”

Sam considers that, and gets it. Someone still being there, supporting him after his own problems, his own addiction, would have been life-changing. It makes sense, for Benny to value it so strongly.

“Okay,” he says. “I get it.”

Benny goes very still. “And?” he presses after a moment.

“You’ll find someone else. Someone better, who’ll accept you too.”

Benny immediately shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “I mean, I might meet someone. But they won’t be better than ya. Ya sell yourself short, Sam. Don’t. You’re pretty damn special.”

“You don’t even know me,” Sam protests.

“I know ya well enough. I’ll get to know ya even better. Bet I’ll think you’re even better, too.”

Sam gives a strangled laugh. No one ever thinks he’s better after getting to know him. He finds himself wanting Benny to like him. A week ago, he was determined to be alone forever. But now…

Well, Benny’s not going to like him more after knowing him. Given past evidence, that’s a given. So it’s almost a moot point.

Almost, but not quite. Because Sam _wants_. And before that might not have meant anything. But now, things have changed. Sam’s on his own, away from his brother, and he’s not going to let what he wants go. It’s a new leaf, a new life.

Benny offers a pained smile. “Not too late to back out,” he says. “Get up an’ pretend this never happened.”

Sam leans forward and kisses him. It’s an impulse decision, really, but it seems to be a good one. The kiss is gentle but insistent, and after only a moment of surprise, Benny’s kissing him back, wrapping an arm around Sam to pull him closer.

Sam feels like he’s floating. He wraps a hand around the back of Benny’s neck, stroking the softer, more delicate skin there.

Benny pulls back a moment later. He presses a few kisses to Sam’s jaw, then pulls away so he can look Sam in the eye. “Takin’ it ya want this?” he asks.

Sam grins, nods, then leans in for another kiss. Benny responds eagerly, pulling Sam even closer. His hands mold around Sam’s back, fingertips pressing to his spine.

Sam’s phone rings on the bedside table. He refuses to acknowledge it, spends one last moment clinging to Benny, and then pulls away to answer his phone. He groans, flopping onto his back. “Sam,” he says shortly.

“Sam,” Cas responds. “I want to let you know. I’m almost to the Bunker. And I believe I’ll need to be let in.”

Sam swallows, brain trying to switch gears. His brother. King of Hell. Right. “Yeah,” he says. “I will. Just call me again when you get here. I’ll be waiting.”

“Of course,” Cas says, then hangs up.

Sam tosses his phone down and groans, rubbing a hand across his face before turning back to Benny. “Benny, I--”

Benny smiles. “I get it. Saving the world, then kissin’.” He tilts his head a bit. “But there’ll be kissin’ after?”

Sam’s lips are still tingling. It feels like a magnet is pulling him back towards Benny. “Definitely.”

Benny swings himself up so he’s sitting with his legs over the edge of the bed. “Good enough for me. C’mon. Let’s get ya fed.”  
  


Cas makes it first, then Jody. Sam lets each of them in, then re-checks the wards, double and triple-checking. It’s not paranoia if someone really is out to get you.

Meanwhile, Benny seems to see himself as host. He takes Cas with him that first day so he can have some extra security--all of them agree that Sam, being the actual target, should stay in the well-warded Bunker--and they come back with bag after bag of groceries. Benny’s taken to running the kitchen, and presenting each guest with a hot meal.

“Nice catch,” Jody mutters to Sam, halfway through a bowl of stew. Sam flushes and opens his mouth to protest, but Jody’s quelling look stops that. “I mean it,” she says. “You two are obvious, and I’ve only been here twenty minutes.”

“Then how do you know he’s a good catch?” Sam asks.

“He cooks. He cooks like _this_. That’s a damn good start.”

“Got pie in the oven,” Benny says over his shoulder and Sam flushes as he realizes Benny heard every word. Jody gives Sam a knowing look.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Sam says. “I don’t even like pie. It’s not for me.”

“Sam here ain’t very forthcoming with what he does want,” Benny informs Jody, smiling and sneaking a look over at Sam. “Soon as he tells me, he can have all he wants of it.” He turns back to the oven.

Jody points her fork at Benny’s back and mouths _catch_. Sam blushes furiously, and feels incredibly fortunate for the interruption of Cas.

Sam tries to will the flush from his cheeks while clearing his throat. “So,” he says. “Thanks for coming, all of you. With Dean--the way he is--you should be safe here. There’re rooms, the place is warded to hell and back. You can stay as long as you like.”

There’s a beat of silence. “We came to help you,” Cas protests. “Not to hide.”

“I don’t even have a plan,” Sam says. “Nothing.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Cas says. “To help you, Sam.”

Sam shrugs. “If you’re willing,” he says. “I need all the help I can get. As long as you know what you’re getting into.”

“We know,” Jody says. “We’ll come up with a plan.”

Benny sets the pie on the table. “Sam,” he says, “don’t know how much help I can be. But now that you’re all fed, I need my food.”

“Of course,” Sam says immediately, feeling guilty for not having thought of it himself. He’s a shitty boyfriend. Partner. Whatever. He’ll have to ask Benny what words he likes, after this is over. Certainly after Benny gets his food.

“Gonna head out,” Benny continues, leaning over so he can wrap an arm around Sam, press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Be back soon.”

Sam looks after him as he walks away, wondering if he should walk after him, say anything. But Benny doesn’t need a chaperone. He’s been keeping to his boundaries, all without Sam’s help. And, bottom line, Sam trusts him.

Once Benny’s gone, Cas looks at Sam. “A vampire, Sam?” he asks. “You’ve taken up with a vampire? Do you not remember what happened before? If your brother were here--”

“Dean’s not,” Sam says as forcefully as he can. “In case you haven’t noticed, Dean’s not here because he’s running around as King of Hell, so he has no room to talk. About anything. After shoving an angel in me without my consent, he doesn’t get to talk about my choices _at all_. I have news for you. Dean isn’t always right. There’s nothing wrong with Benny. And if you can’t handle that, tell me now.”

It’s silent for a moment, and the silence makes Sam shrink back a bit. The first confrontation is one thing, but waiting it out is entirely another. But then Jody says, “Here here. Alright. Now that that’s taken care of--what’re we going to do?”

Sam shrugs. “We can cure demons. But the Mark of Cain--I need to do more about that.” He turns to Cas. “Anything?”

“It’s a Mark of evil,” Cas says. “Beyond that…” He shrugs.

“Is Cain still alive?” Sam asks. “Research says he’s a Knight of Hell. Could I find him?”

“He is a Knight,” Cas confirms. “The first Knight. He doesn’t appear on our radar much anymore. I could find an angel who might know.”

Sam nods. “Do that,” he says. “I need him. I need to know what he knows about the Mark. And what Dean knows.” Cas nods, then gets up to leave, retreating from the Bunker.

“You said…cure a demon?” Jody asks. “How does that work?”

“Purified blood ritual,” Sam says. “I tried it on Crowley using my own blood. Donor blood might work though. The Men of Letters discovered it. We’re going to have to look into it.”

Jody nods. “I’ll help.”

So they start digging, reading all the notes on the ritual and starting to get into blood and demons and general before Benny makes it back.

“That was quick,” Sam says.

“Not hard at all to steal from a blood bank.”

Sam does a double-take. “Blood bank? I thought…”

“Live blood is only when the cravin’ gets too bad. An’ I don’t got that kinda time now. Need to be here.”

Sam just looks at him. Benny makes it sound simple, but Sam knows it’s far less so. “Thank you,” he says.

“Nothin’ to thank me for. Now catch me up, yeah?”

 

Cas comes back almost twelve hours later. “I have found Cain,” he announces.

Sam starts from here he’s half-asleep on the couch, buried against Benny’s side. “Where?” he asks.

Cas is looming over them. “According to some angels I tracked down--on a bee farm. I can bring you there.”

That gets Sam’s full attention. He gets to his feet. “Yeah?”

Cas nods.

“Let’s go.”

“Do you want to wake the others?” Cas asks

Sam runs a hand through his hair. “Shit. Yeah, we gotta let ‘em know, at least.”

“I’m awake,” Benny grunts, getting up from the couch. “Not like you two knuckleheads could keep it down. I’ll wake Jody. You two figure out what we need.”

What they need is plenty of holy water, the spelled iron chains from the dungeon that once held the last King of Hell, and as many angel blades as they have. “But I want him alive if possible,” Sam warns, making sure everyone has a blade. “Don’t die for it, that’s why I’m giving you this, but--if we can. We kinda need him.”

“Sam,” Cas says quietly, away from Jody and Benny. “I’m not sure angel blades can kill him.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks quietly. “I thought--”

“Not everything,” Cas reminds him. “You know that. Cain’s very old, Sam. And the first Knight of Hell. That’s a lot of power. And it would take even more power to kill.”

“Well, let’s hope that we don’t have to,” Sam says grimly. He clutches his angel blade regardless.

They all pile into Cas’ car, with Cas and Sam in the front and the other two in the back. “How far is this place?” Benny grumbles, trying to get comfortable with the driver’s seat pressing against his knees.

Cas doesn’t answer, just starts driving, and Sam settles in for a long ride.

 

Cain’s place isn’t that impressive. Sam looks around, expecting…well, anything, really. Something more. But no. It’s a simple rural house, and bees.

“Right,” he says. “Let’s get this done.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have brought these guys out. Cain’s lair doesn’t seem scary, but Sam knows enough to know it’s the subtle ones to watch out for. And he won’t, _can’t_ , let any of this group be hurt. They’re all he has, and he’s too selfish to let them go.

The front door swings open. “Dean send you?”

Sam looks at the creature in the doorway. Tall, and bearded, he looks every inch the man living in rural hermitage, but not a millennia old demon and the father of murder.

“No,” he says, gripping the iron manacles. “But we are here about him.”

Cain steps out, and smiles. “Sam Winchester. The brother,” he says. “Your brother made me a promise, and he seems to have forgotten about it. You the more honorable brother? Here to pay the family debts?”

Sam blanches, thinking about what kind of deals Dean made with this demon, what he owes him now.

Benny growls from behind Sam. “Sam doesn’t owe ya shit,” he says. “Dean’s debts aren’t his.”

Cain acts like he hasn’t heard Benny. “He was supposed to kill me,” he says. “Let me rest. Finally. But he forgot.” He looks down, examining their angel blades. “Those pig stickers won’t do much, though. I need Dean, and the Blade.”

Enemies with suicidal bends are either stripped of danger or twice as dangerous. Sam isn’t sure which category Cain falls into, but he’s cautiously optimistic. “I need some information from you,” he says. “Let’s make a deal of our own.”

“Sam--” Cas hisses. “Deals with demons--”

Sam keeps talking. “You tell me what I need. I find a way to end you.”

Cain laughs. “You think you can find what I couldn’t? Over centuries?”

“Sam’s damn resourceful,” Benny says.

“I have a good library,” Sam adds. “Best in the world, probably.”

Cain hesitates a moment. “Tell me what you want.”

“The Mark,” Sam shoots back. “Explain it.”

“Lucifer gave it to me,” he says promptly. “I made a deal. Abel was being misled by Lucifer. I couldn’t let it happen. I killed Abel, he went straight to heaven, I’m Lucifer’s. Simple.” He grins sardonically. “I’m not the villain in your books. At least, I wasn’t then.”

“You _murdered_ your brother because he had conversations you didn’t want?” Jody recoils. “You’re an even greater villain than I thought.”

“I saved him,” Cain says. There’s not much heat behind the words; perhaps he’s too worn down for heat.

“You killed him,” Jody says, and she’s all heat, always is, ready to burn up at the edges with feeling. “Murder isn’t love. Ever heard of a conversation, dickwad?”

Cain looks at her curiously. Sam steps forward, lest Cain get any ideas, and to get his attention back. “So it’s from Lucifer. What’s it do?”

Cain shrugs. “Increased aggression. Anger. Short temper. Convinced you’re never wrong. Bloodlust.” He pauses a moment. “When you die, you become a demon. Faster, stronger, more bloodthirsty than any other. What I hear, that’s what your brother is now.”

Sam swallows. “No idea how to get rid of it?” Cain shakes his head. “Anything that works against it?”

“Why don’t you try those fancy cuffs of yours?” Cain asks, holding out his wrists. Sam approaches cautiously, but Cain lets him cuff him without any problems.

Cain gently tugs, looking at them thoughtfully. “They hold,” he says.

“How can we trust you?” Cas challenges.

Sam answers, looking at Cain. “Because we’re his last chance,” he says. “You’re coming with us. We have work to do.”

 

Sam gives Cain his seat in the front, if for no other reason than so nobody has to squish in the back next to him. Jody’s still eyeing him rather viciously.

He ends up wedged in between Benny and Jody, leaning against Benny and trying to get comfortable. Benny moves his arm so it’s around Sam. “Ya good?” he asks.

Sam nods. “Fine.

“Ya look tired.”

Sam shrugs. He can’t deny it.

“Get some sleep,” Benny says, quiet and gentle, prodding until Sam’s resting entirely against him. “I got’cha, Sam.”

Sam closes his eyes, knowing that it’s true.

 

They put Cain in the dungeon. He doesn’t protest at all, just watches Sam. “Your brother found the First Blade,” he says without prompting. “He has to have. It’s the only thing that could give him so much power, allow him to kill so many. Well, Crowley, from what I saw, wasn’t that big a fish. But Abaddon, though--I trained her myself. It would take the First Blade to take her down.” He makes a face. “He was supposed to kill me once he had it. I suppose he’s too busy taking over Hell to remember that.”

“Tell me about the Blade,” Sam asks.

“Forged of a donkey’s jaw, you know its history,” Cain snaps. “I hid it from myself. I’m powerful enough without it, but with it…” he shakes his head. “Your brother found it. It makes him powerful enough to be a King. If you didn’t lock Lucifer in his box, he would have been Lucifer’s right hand. Maybe even a real challenge for the old bastard. As it is, Dean’s the strongest creature left standing.”

“And he’s a demon?” Sam asks.

“We die, we come back as demons, more powerful than any other. Someone killed your brother, and made the job a hundred times worse.”

“Why did he do it?” he asks.

Cain gives him a chilling smile. “You want the answer he gave, or the real one?”

“Both.”

“He wanted to kill Abaddon. Decided she was dangerous. But Crowley was pushing him to it. And I got the feeling he was running. Looking for something, any sort of mission. Had that desperate look about him, you know?” He shrugs. “The Mark of Cain isn’t taken lightly. I imagine he was desperate enough.”

Sam pales. “I’ll have more questions later,” he manages to stutter out, before fleeing the room.

He can feel Benny hot on his heels. “ _Cher--_ ” he says.

Sam turns on him, and he doesn’t know what Benny sees on his face, but he steps back. “It’s my fault,” he says. “I abandoned him. He was hurt and I--”

Now Benny looks angry. “Ya abandoned _him_?” He demands. “Your fault? Sam, your brother shoved an angel in ya. Don’t ya forget that. He hurt ya. Don’ let him make you feel guilty.” The anger fades a tiny bit. “I--the night ya told me that--the pain ya were showin’, even to me, someone ya barely trusted then. Its real, Sam.”

Sam shakes his head. “He didn’t know,” he says desperately. “It’s his job, you know? To save me. Protect me from myself. He doesn’t know anything else.”

“Bullshit,” Benny says firmly. “Bullshit, Sam. Your brother is a grown ass man, he knows what he’s done. Don’t make excuses for him. Please. He don’t need them. You holdin’ firm, not lettin’ him hurt ya anymore--that’s what he needs. What ya both need.”

He steps forward and hugs Sam. “Your brother is responsible for what he’s done, Sam. To you, an’ since then. Ya did right, protectin’ yourself. Nothin’ here’s your fault.”

Sam essentially collapses into Benny’s arms. “I can’t hurt him again,” he whispers.

“Not your fault,” Benny says again, while squeezing Sam a bit tighter. He takes one hand off of Sam’s back to run it through his hair, over and over again, slow and soothing, and Sam lets his eyes slip further shut.

Sam doesn’t say anything else, and just lets Benny hold him. He’s not sure he entirely believes Benny. He’s not sure if he can. But he thinks he wants to try.


	4. Chapter Four

Sam runs his hand through his hair. “We still have no idea how to get Dean to us, then,” he says.

Benny almost growls. “You’re not usin’ yourself as _bait_ ,” he snaps.

“Besides,” Jody points out reasonably. “We still don’t have a way to cure the Mark.”

“Sam is right,” Cas says. That can come later. The important part is to get Dean human again. Which we can’t do without Dean.”

“We’re not usin’ Sam as bait,” Benny said, and this time, he does growl.

It’s an argument that’s been occurring for more than a week now. Cain has been a wealth of information, but they have all they can from him, and they need to get to work.

They can cure him, almost guaranteed. Sam’s never fully cured a demon before, let alone one as strong as Dean will be, but he’s sure the ritual will work. That’s the easy part.

Capturing Dean and dealing with the Mark afterward are the problems. Dealing with what will surely be the ensuing chaos of Hell after is also a problem, but one Sam’s admittedly focused on very little. He has a brother to save

They’ve been going back and forth, back and forth. Sam just wants it done with, honestly, but he gets it. Never before would he have hesitated, if there was a goal to meet, if he could serve a purpose, but Benny…

Benny. Sam’s getting in awful deep awful fast. The good news is he doesn’t think he’s alone in this.

Sam spreads his hands on the table. “Let’s take a break,” he suggests.

Jody looks at him and nods. “Time for lunch, I think.”

Sam doesn’t feel hungry. But it is almost one, so he nods.

Benny pushes back from the table. “I have to head out,” he says. “All outta blood.”

Sam’s heart lurches. “You good?” he asks.

Benny smiles easily. “All good,” he promises. “Be back in a bit.” He leans down and briefly kisses Sam’s temple, and then he’s gone.

Sam watches him go, and then Jody squeezes his shoulders. “Think we can manage sandwiches on our own,” she says.

Sam nods, and follows her to the kitchen. They do manage sandwiches, putting together turkey and cheese on thick bread. Cas joins them in the kitchen, and they do their best not to talk about Dean or any other pressing issues. It leads to a lot of stilted conversation, but they manage. Jody particularly seems good at that.

Sam’s phone rings as they’re clearing plates. “Benny,” he says, frowning as he checks the caller ID.

“See what loverboy wants,” Jody says, gently jabbing Sam in the side when she deems him too slow.

So Sam picks up the phone. “What’s up, Benny? I didn’t expect--”

He hears a chuckle that sends a chill down his spine. “Hate to break it to you, little bro,” Dean says. “But I’m not your boyfriend. Nice choice, by the way. Really do know how to pick your monsters.”

Sam clutches his phone hard. “Dean, so help me--”

Dean cuts him off with another chilling laugh. “No, no, little brother. I’m the King. I’m setting the terms.” He pauses a beat. “Got to say. Was a little surprised when they told me about you and him. Flirting, they said. Benny here running into fights, defending your honor. Sweet, they said. You replaced me with another monster, Sammy.”

Sam doesn’t bother to explain, again, how he’s never replaced Dean at all. It’s not worth it. “You’re one to talk,” Sam snaps. “Look what you’ve become.”

Dean tuts. “Don’t you know better than to aggravate the guy holding your boyfriend?” he asks. “You let him drink from you?”

“No,” Sam says, although he wonders just then if he would, if Benny asked.

Dean hums. “Good,” he says. “At least you have that much self-respect.”

“You want _me_ to drink from you,” Sam points out.

“That’s different. You’re _mine_ ,” Dean says.

Sam feels like he’s going to throw up. “What do you want?” he asks.

“I want you back,” Dean says promptly. “You and me, driving down crazy street together. Old style hand-off. I give your boyfriend back, you come with me, at my side where you belong. Easy as that.”

Sam swallows, closing his eyes. He can’t watch Cas and Jody watch him while he says this. “Fine,” he says shakily.

He found it. Just an hour ago, he thought Benny in his life would prevent the reckless abandon of his life to meet a goal. But he’s found the goal he’ll go any lengths to meet.

“That’s my boy,” Dean says. It makes Sam shiver, like nails on a chalkboard. “One hour, Sam. I’ll be outside.”

He hangs up and Sam lets his phone fall.

“Sam?” Jody asks. “Sam, what’s happening?”

Sam can’t get out an answer.

 

It goes down just like Dean said. One hour later, Dean is waiting with his demons outside the Bunker. Sam’s eyes latch onto Benny.

He looks okay. Not like they’ve really hurt him, at least. Sam makes eye contact, and Benny stares back.

“We doing this?” Sam calls.

“Oh, we’re doing this,” Dean grins. “C’mon over, Sammy. You can say goodbye to your boy here in the middle.”

Sam nods. Jody and Cas both try to say something to him but Sam ignores it. He would feel bad about it in any other situation, but right now, he has a goal.

So he starts walking. Dean lets Benny go, and he makes his way towards Sam, grabbing him up as soon as he gets close. “Ya don’t gotta do this,” he says, face buried in Sam’s neck.

“Yeah I do,” Sam says, wrapping his arms around Benny in turn. He squeezes him tighter, is so relieved to feel Benny in his arms. He can’t believe how only a few weeks ago, he didn’t have this. He buries his face against the top of Benny’s head, against his hat. “Don’t worry,” he says quietly.

“Ya gotta plan?” Benny asks, voice barely a whisper.

Sam nods, but doesn’t say anything. He can’t risk Dean hearing. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he says quietly.

He wants to say so much more, but Dean cuts across him. “Sweet. Time to move along, Sammy. Tell your boyfriend goodbye.”

Sam squeezes tight, then lets go. He turns away quickly, like ripping a bandaid off. Then he starts walking towards Dean and his entourage. “Okay,” he says. “I’m ready to go.”

Dean jerks his head. Two demons grab Sam around the arms, and escort him away.

 

Sam looks around. “Nice place, Dean.”

He should have known Dean would work out of an old strip club.

Dean kicks back on a chair by the abandoned stage. “Thanks Sammy,” he says, flashing a grin. “Glad ya like it. We’re gonna be here for a while.”

Sam sighs. “Dean, look. Let’s talk--”

“Nope,” Dean says, popping the _P._ “Not happening. I talk. You listen.”

Sam listens, but Dean doesn’t seem inclined to talk. Instead, he jerks his head sharply, and three demons come to grab Sam, holding him still.

Dean stands, grabs a knife, then makes a cut on his arm. The smell hits the air quickly, filling Sam’s senses, and it’s practically impossible to ignore.

“Let’s not screw around,” Dean says. “You’re easy to lead around when you’re on this stuff. We all know it. Like a dog on a leash. Right now, Sammy, you need that leash. And you want this. Can see it in your eyes. Come get it.”

Dean moves fast, using one hand to hold Sam’s head in place, forcing the slit wrist against Sam’s mouth.

Sam fights for a moment, twisting, but they have him gripped tight. The blood makes it past Sam’s lips, and he stops struggling. There’s no point anymore. Everyone here knows Dean’s won.

Dean nods again and another demon comes over to pinch Sam’s nose closed, forcing Sam to swallow the blood Dean’s still pouring into his mouth.

Dean eventually pulls away from Sam, grinning. “That’s it,” he says. “Bet that feels good, huh, Sammy?”

Sam doesn’t respond, but Dean’s not expecting a response. “Hold him,” he says to the demons. “Wait for it to kick in before you let him go.”

Sam closes his eyes. _Wait for it to kick in. Wait. Wait._

He knows the moment it hits his system. It’s been so long, but he could never forget that surging, rushing feeling, his veins on fire, his brain moving faster. It’s been so long it feels like he might combust. But he knows his body can handle it, that it will settle down to a low, thrumming power soon.

He feels it. He feels the blood, the power, he feels the parts of himself he tries to bury deep. “Dean,” he says. “Dean.”

Dean turns back to him, grinning. “Hey Sammy boy. How’re you feeling?”

Sam doesn’t answer, just takes a deep breath, summons the power in him, and breathes out. The demons holding him fall dead, grips loosening, bodies hitting the floor.

Sam turns to Dean. “Your blood is powerful,” he says. “Knight of Hell, I guess.”

Dean snarls and pulls out an ancient blade of bone from his belt--the First Blade. Sam holds out his hand, focusing his power.

“I know you like to think Ruby led me around by the nose,” Sam says. Talking wastes energy, but it also distracts him from the pain this exertion is shooting through him. And maybe Dean needs to hear this, although whether or not he’ll remember it later is debatable. “That she would get me high, and I would do whatever she asked. That I was just her pawn. That my weakness was picking a girl over you, being misled by a demon. Not the sin of making my own choices.” Sam manages to grin. “I got news for you, Dean. You’ve always underestimated me. Ruby give me information, and maybe I’m an idiot for believing bad information, but it was all we heard from anyone. And I made my own choices from there. It was all me.” He takes a steadying breath. It doesn’t feel like he can get enough air, but he ignores that. “Too many people have tried to control this body, including you. But not any more. No matter what you put in this body--it’s mine. I control it.”

Dean is still stuck in place, gripping the First Blade, face stuck somewhere between surprise and a snarl. “You going to kill me?” he asks.

“I’m here to save you,” Sam says. The pain is getting bad--he’s running half on demon blood, half on sheer determination, but he knows he’s pressing his limits, controlling a Knight of Hell. “Besides,” he says. “I think I only have the juice to kill one Knight of Hell. And I already promised that spot.”

Sam takes a deep breath, then bends down. It’s harder to keep it up without eye contact, but it’s only for a moment. Sam rips up the left leg of his jeans and reveals the manacle there, both cuffs secured around his ankle, previously hidden by his jeans.

“Should have searched me, Dean,” he says as he secures the cuffs on Dean. “Shouldn’t have just believed I’d fall at your feet.” As soon as they’re locked, Sam relaxes the control the demon blood gives him over Dean. His body is still thrumming, still aching, but it doesn’t feel like he’s been stuck too long under water anymore.

“C’mon,” Sam says. “Let’s get you cured.”

Dean rattles his cuffs, clearly furious, but he can’t do much, so he’s left to let Sam drag him along.

 

Sam secures Dean in the back of a stolen car, leaves the First Blade on the front passenger's seat, and drives them back towards the Bunker.

Dean’s sullen and quiet for two hours, but finally he breaks his self-imposed silent treatment and asks. “How could you…?”

“Beat you?” Sam asks, looking into the rearview mirror and smiling a bit. “I took down Lucifer. What makes you think you’d be a challenge?”

 

Sam pulls right into the Bunker garage, and within ten seconds Jody, Cas, and Benny are there, all armed.

“It’s me,” he calls, opening the driver’s door slowly.

Cas blinks. “How in the hell…”

Sam manages half a grin. “Got Dean,” he says. “Let’s get him in the dungeon.”

Cas and Jody move to escort Dean, but Benny moves to Sam. “Ya okay?” he demands, hands moving over Sam as if he’s going to find a wound he couldn’t see, couldn’t sniff out.

Truth be told, Sam is drained. It’s the fall after the high, to be expected, but it’s still wrecking. “I’m okay,” he says tiredly. “I have--I need to keep going.”

“How’d ya get him?” Benny asks.

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” Sam promises. “So I only have to say it once. Just--keep moving.”

Benny follows along with Sam and Sam marches off to the dungeon. Cas and Jody have Dean strung up, but Sam goes straight to Cain.

“I can kill you,” he says.

Cain looks up, and Sam thinks his eyes are full of hope.

“I need your blood,” Sam continues. “A lot of it.”

“Sam what are you--”

“Dean got his wish,” Sam interrupts Cas. “He made me drink. Thought he could control me. Well, guess he found out. The blood is an addiction, but it doesn’t--it’s not a spell. Not a leash. I took down Lucifer. I’m sure I can take out a Knight of Hell. With enough blood.”

Cain smiles at Sam. “Have a rather high opinion of yourself.”

“I’ve earned it,” Sam shoots back, sure of that for the moment, at least. “Now, you have to decide if you want it.”

Cain rattles his chain, and Sam takes half a step back before he realizes that Cain is just trying to offer his arm. “Take it,” he rasps. “Take it all, if you need. Anything is worth trying.”

It takes a few minutes to find some appropriate containers, but as soon as he does, Sam makes the cut and starts taking his fill.

Part of him wants it straight from Cain’s arm, as much as he can get straight down his throat. He’s starting to get the shakes, the burning craving. It’s been hours since he got that hit from Dean.

He refrains, even if only because he knows he’ll get his fill soon enough.

Dean laughs. “You always denied it, be we always knew it was true,” he taunts. “Filthy junkie, jonesing for a fix.”

Benny growls. “Shut it.”

“Boyfriend’s mad,” Dean stage-whispers. He normalizes his voice. “You’re a vampire. Smelling blood is your kinda thing, right? Tell me. How does Sam smell now? Filthy and corrupt? How do you stand him? Or maybe it’s some vampire aphrodisiac. You only like him for his stink?”

Sam ignores him even as Benny growls again, and stems the bleeding in Cain’s arm. “Not too much longer,” he promises.

“Don’t get my hopes up,” Cain sighs. His eyes are closed, his big body hanging in his chains. It’s hard to reconcile this man with the father of murder, one of the more powerful demons to ever exist.

Sam doesn’t say anything else, just starts drinking. Cas makes a warning noise and Dean practically cackles, but Sam ignores them both.

His head is spinning when he sets the now-empty container down. “Give me a minute,” he gasps. Benny steps forward to help support him.

“Gotcha,” he whispers.

“Thanks,” Sam says back once his head’s stopped spinning. “I’m okay.”

“Ya sure?” Benny asks.

“Sam, you know better than to trust…” Cas begins.

“I’m going to trust me,” Sam interrupts. “And what’s inside me.”

Benny grins. “Ya heard him.”

Sam steps away from Benny. “You sure?” he asks Cain. “This is permanent. No coming back. I don’t even know where you’ll end up. I could try to cure you instead.”

Cain shakes his head. “I’ve lived long enough,” he says. “Will you keep your promise?”

Sam doesn’t respond, just reaches out to the demon and starts tugging with all his strength. The demon is stubborn, even as Sam can feel Cain’s desperate, sincere need to rest. Still, power matches power, and, finally, Sam can pull the demon free, crushing it until it has nowhere to go but to dissipate into smoke, into nothingness.

The body hangs heavy and empty in its chains, and Sam nearly collapses. Benny rushes forward to catch him. Sam feels empty, gutted. He leans against Benny, letting him take Sam’s weight. It takes a moment before he can muster the energy to look over at the others. Even Dean looks startled, and he fails to hide it.

“Can you start to cure him?” Sam asks Cas and Jody. “I would, but…”

Jody waves him off. “Get some sleep, Sam,” she turns to Benny. “Take care of him.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Benny says. “Always.” Then he half-leads, half-drags Sam to their bedroom.

“I’m alright,” Sam says, falling backwards onto the bed.

“Sure ya are,” Benny soothes, kneeling down. “Lemme get your shoes.”

Sam allows Benny to do what he will, closing his eyes. “You disgusted with me?”

Benny stops pulling at Sam’s right shoe. “Why would I be?”

Sam huffs. “You know why. Because I...I drank.”

“So did I.”

“You handle it.”

“Seems like you are too,” Benny says.

Sam scrunches up his face. Benny isn’t getting it, which he supposes is good for Sam. But not good for Benny. And Sam needs to be good for Benny. “You do it for food. I don’t.”

“You did it to survive,” Benny says. “An’ you’re usin’ it for good, Sam. You’re fine. I promise.”

Sam takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I hate this,” he whispers.

Benny moves up and strokes Sam’s hair. “I know.”

“I hate how it makes me feel,” Sam continues. “When I crash. When I’m off it. When I’m on it. But more than that…” he squeezes his eyes even further shut. “I hate how _good_ it makes me feel. When I’m on it. Strong. Capable.”

Benny keeps stroking his hair, his hands never even stuttering. “I know,” he says gently. “That ain’t that out there, Sam. I know enough to promise you’re not alone on that one. For what it’s worth--you’re strong an’ capable plenty without it.”

Sam doesn’t cry, but he shakes like he’s sobbing nonetheless. Benny just keeps stroking his hair.

“Ya alright?” Benny asks. “How’re ya feelin’?”

Sam opens his eyes, and even laughs a bit. “Terrible,” he says. “I burnt through all that in like two minutes. Not supposed to do that. Feel like I scooped out my insides or something.”

“I can getcha more,” Benny offers. “Replace what ya lost.”

Sam shakes his head. “Not yet. Not until I need it, right before I deal with Dean. I don’t want it.”

“Alright,” Benny says. His face furrows slightly in worry, but he doesn’t argue. “Alright, Sam. Whatever ya need. Jus’ tell me what ya need.” He hesitates a moment. “Deal with Dean?”

“I think I can cure him,” Sam says. “Of the Mark, I mean. With the blood.” He manages a sardonic smirk. “Should be good for something, right?”

“Don’t talk like that,” Benny scolds lightly. “You’re good for a lot of things. The blood is a thing, an’ you’re usin’ the hand ya were dealt.” He moves properly onto the bed, lying next to Sam. “Think ya can get some sleep?”

Sam _is_ exhausted, so he nods, and settles against Benny before letting his eyes close once more.

He doesn’t sleep long. The shakes wake him up after an hour or so. Benny is still stroking his hair, and he looks worried, brow creased. “Lemme get ya more,” he whispers. “C’mon. Ya need it.”

Sam shakes his head. “I hate it,” he whispers back. “I fucking hate it, Benny.”

“I know, I know,” Benny soothes. “Jus’ hate seein’ ya like this. White as a sheet an’ shakin’, Sam. It ain’t good for ya.”

“Gonna be like this when I dry out,” Sam says tightly. He doesn’t need Benny to tell him how bad he looks. He can feel it.

“So why do it twice?” Benny asks, stroking Sam’s hair out of his face.

Sam sighs. “Just a little,” he allows. “Just enough to keep me from drying out.”

“Okay,” Benny agrees. “I’ll be right back.”

Sam lets his eyes close while Benny’s gone, trying to slip away from the pain. Benny is good to his word though, and is back only minutes later, helping Sam sit up and holding blood to his lips, encouraging him to drink. “Nice an’ easy,” he murmurs, and Sam sips slowly. It helps instantly. “Better?” he asks.

Sam nods, new energy hitting him. It’s not nearly like what hit him earlier, but it’s enough to get him back on his feet--metaphorically, at least. Benny doesn’t seem like he’ll be letting Sam out of bed anytime soon.

The idea sends a pleasant shoot through Sam’s mind, even as he knows that he himself didn’t mean it like that. He’s sick. He’s _high_. They won’t be having sex. He’s not even sure he’s ready for that, because he likes Benny a damn lot, but they only started this recently, and Sam’s...well, he’s high right now. He’s a bit of a mess all around, honestly.

Someday, though. Someday, he thinks hazily, Benny won’t let him out of bed. And it will be an entirely different reason.

“Jus’ tell me when ya need more,” Benny says.

Sam doesn’t protest this time. He can’t deny how much better he feels now that he’s had a hit, and as long as he tries not to think about it too deeply, he can do this.

The room becomes sharper, the colors come back. Sam focuses on Benny, who’s staring back at him.

“What ya do to me,” Benny says softly.

Sam smiles. “Yeah?”

“Didn’t expect it to be so heart-wrenchin’ to see ya like this when we met. Well,” he says, frowning. “Expected ya to take my head off, honestly.”

Sam swallows, and it feels like bile is rising up, and it has nothing to do with the blood. “I couldn’t,” Sam says. “I didn’t want to then. But I could never now.”

There was a time when he could have. Might have, if Benny gave him a reason. Sam shivers at that now. But now he knows Benny will never give him a reason.

“Yeah?” Benny says, smiling.

“Of course,” Sam says. It suddenly becomes crucial that Benny understand this. Benny, who’s been here by his side through the last few days, hell, through Dean chasing him down, deserves to know Sam will be there in turn. “Benny, I’m serious. You gotta know--I’m so fucking happy I found you.”

Benny strokes his hair again. “Me too,” he says.

Sam grins, absurdly happy, and he feels more high off of this than he does the blood. “Kiss me?” he asks.

Benny doesn’t even answer, just leans down and obliges Sam. Sam pulls Benny closer until he’s hovering over Sam on the bed, still kissing.

Sam closes his eyes, letting himself get lost in the undeniably sweet moment, but he can’t quite shut off his sensory awareness. He can hear footsteps at the door.

Jody knocks, then pokes her head in. She smiles briefly, and Sam thinks it might be at the sight of them. It looks happy, whatever it is.

“Cas says he’s human,” she says. “And that we should find you for whatever’s next.”

Sam swallows and moves a bit, putting scant inches between him and Benny so he can think. “Yeah,” he says. “Be right there.”

Jody nods and then leaves, leaving the door cracked open.

“Ready to do this?” Benny asks quietly.

Sam shrugs. “I have to try. He’s my brother.”

Something crosses Benny’s face. “You’re a good brother,” he says.

That doesn’t sound like the end of the conversation. “But…” Sam prompts.

Benny shrugs. “But, you told me, what he did to ya...I’ve loved Dean like he was my own brother, but _cher_ , do ya wanna risk your own health for this, after that?”

“I have to,” Sam says firmly. “Not saving him isn’t an option. For one, he’s dangerous. For another...he’s still my brother.”

Benny doesn’t look any more comfortable. “Right, but…”

Sam cuts him off with a short kiss. “I didn’t say I was forgiving him,” he assures softly. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, but fixing us…if we can…it’ll take a lot of time and effort. This isn’t fixing us. It’s just fixing him.”

Benny kisses him right back. “As long as you’re sure,” he says. “I’ll back ya. Now let’s go.”

 

Dean looks like shit. Sam’s not sure why he expected anything else. Curing is a nasty process, they know that much, Dean should look like shit when it’s over. And it doesn’t help that he’s still cuffed to a chair.

“Sammy….”

“You want the Mark gone?” Sam asks.

“You can’t. It’s…”

“I killed Cain. I took control from Lucifer. I think I can get rid of your little murder mark. Now. Do you want it gone?” Sam can feel the tiny hit Benny gave him fading. There’s still the lingering high, but underneath, his body feels sore and empty, clawing for more. It doesn’t help that there’s still cartons of blood in the room. “Your options are let me cure you, or pretty much be stuck here, in the Bunker, forever. The fact is that Mark’s dangerous. We’ve seen that. Do you want it gone?”

Dean swallows, and Sam can’t even begin to guess at what the look in his eyes means. “Yes.”

Sam nods. “This might hurt a bit,” he says. “I have no idea.”

He turns away from Dean and drinks down whatever’s left of the blood, not knowing exactly how much he needs but hazarding that it won’t exactly be a small amount. Benny keeps a gentle hand on Sam’s back, keeping him upright as the blood hits his system like a hurricane.

“Alright,” Sam says, trying his best not to sway where he stands. “Let’s do this.” He doesn’t ask Dean’s opinion again. Dean said yes, and Sam has to do this. It’s now or never.

He reaches out one hand, outstretched towards his brother and pulling. He reaches for the Mark, finds it, and starts to pull at it. It’s latched on tight, like it’s slotted onto a spot always meant for it, just waiting.

But Sam’s stronger. It takes time, but he is, and he pries it loose. Sweat pours down his brow, and his hands shake, but he feels the grip he has on the thing latching to Dean’s soul, and he feels his own strength in comparison. He squeezes, and squeezes tighter, until the Mark is extinguished to nothing.

He’s left bent over, hands on his knees while sweat continues to pour and he shakes. “Is it done?” he gasps out. “Is it?”

“Yes,” Cas says. “Your brother is cured. Also unconscious, but that is temporary. I imagine the cure was overwhelming. He will wake soon.”

Sam sighs in relief. “Good. That’s good. I need you to get him out. So we can lock me down.”

“The hell?” Benny demands.

“Gotta dry out,” Sam explains.

“How the hell that turn to locking you up?” Benny demands. “What’s wrong with our bed?”

 _Our bed_ hits Sam in an interesting, butterfly-filled way, but he pushes on. It’s how we do it,” Sam says. “I’m dangerous, I need to be--”

“And I’m a cop,” Jody interrupts. “That’s not how you dry someone out. I’ve met some addicts, Sam. That isn’t now it works.” She shakes her head in disgust. “A Google search could tell you that.”

“What do we do?” Benny asks her, one of his big hands resting gently on Sam’s back.

“Go to bed, Sam,” she says. “Watch some TV, get your boy there to read to you. Sleep if you can. Rest.” She turns to Benny. “Keep him hydrated. Water, tea, fruit juice. Soft foods. Soup, probably, if he can stomach it.”

Benny nods. Sam opens his mouth to protest, but Jody cuts him off. “We’ll take care of Dean,” she says firmly. “You just focus on taking care of yourself.”

That seems to settle it, so Benny helps Sam off to their room, half leading him as they go.

Benny gets Sam on to the bed, and Sam let himself flop down. He’s boneless from his recent strain, but a lot of it is by choice. He could probably get up and do anything he needed right now, but he won’t. Junkies don’t get to run the show. He remembers that much.

“You have to tie me down,” he prompts when Benny doesn’t do it.

Benny pulls off Sam’s shoes. “I don’t gotta do any such thing. I won’t, either. You want under the covers or are ya too hot?”

Sam shakes his head. “Benny, you don’t understand. I’m _dangerous_. Telekinetic, sometimes. I can’t control it when I’m like this. Can’t control my own body. I _need_ to be tied down.”

Benny pauses for a moment, then sighs. “Alright,” he allows. “If it gets to that…if ya might hurt yourself…I’ll tie ya down. Not before it comes to that.” He pauses a moment. “Would it make ya feel better if I had somethin’ ready?”

Sam shrugs. “Cuffs in the dresser.”

Benny doesn’t even raise an eyebrow at that, which Sam appreciates, even if they are only there to complete the FBI look. “How ‘bout your t-shirts? Somethin’ soft.”

Sam feels a little overwhelmed, breathing shallowly. What happened to ropes and a cot in an iron room? At least he understood that. “Sure,” he manages.

Benny gathers some shirts and sets them on the chair. “There,” he says. “Taken care of. Now. You want under the blankets?”

Sam nods, so Benny helps him with that and then hands him the remote. Sam makes it as far as the history channel--and his fingers are already shaking on the buttons--when there’s a knock on the door.

Jody pokes her head in, and steps inside holding a tray. “Made some stuff for Dean, thought I’d save you a trip,” she says.

Benny takes the tray gratefully and sets it on the nightstand. Sam looks over. A pitcher of water, two glasses, and a steaming mug of what Sam assumes is soup. “Thanks,” he says.

Jody smiles. “No problem, Sam. You rest up, try to feel better. We’ve got everything else.” She backs out of the room, leaving them alone.

“What’re we watchin’?” Benny asks.

Sam looks at the screen. “Pyramids,” he says.

“Nice,” Benny says, sitting next to Sam on the bed.

Sam manages to smile. “Did you see these go up in person?”

Benny gently bumps his shoulder. “Shut up, youngster.” He pauses for a moment. “You know I’ve never even been out west? Nevermind left the country. Damn old for someone who’s never really travelled.” He smiles again. “C’mon. Let’s learn about the pyramids.”

They do, and Sam drinks his soup, Benny helping him with it when his hands start to shake and it starts to slosh. “Shh, shh,” he murmurs. “I gotcha. Lemme help ya, Sam.”

“Don’t have much of a choice,” Sam says, closing his eyes but taking a sip.

“Course ya do,” Benny says. “If ya want, I’ll leave, an’ Jody or Cas could come instead. Or hell, if ya have anyone else ya want me to call. Or I could go sit off in the chair, give ya some space.” He looks troubled saying that, but he gets it out regardless. “We jus’ wanna help ya, but if ya need your space…”

Sam sighs. “No,” he says. “That’s not…really, I’m grateful for the help. This could be…well, a lot worse. Thank you.”

“Don’t have to thank me,” Benny says, stroking Sam’s sweaty hair out of his eyes before tipping the mug to give Sam another sip. Sam isn’t even sure when his hair became sweaty, but the tackiness and stickiness of the strands as they move under Benny’s fingers is undeniable.

“I must look awful.”

“Ya look sick. Stop worrying, drink your soup. Then ya can get better.”

Sam shudders but takes what he’s given. “I’m going to get worse.”

“That’s how these things tend to go. You bored with the show?”

To tell the truth, Sam hasn’t been watching. He opens his eyes and puts his best effort into focusing properly on the screen. Pyramids. Pyramids are actually pretty interesting.

He has a hard time keeping focus, but Benny helps him finish his soup then sets the mug aside, pulling Sam close to his chest and stroking a hand along his back. “You’re alright,” he whispers.

“Why are you so…patient with this?” Sam asks.

Benny kisses the top of his head, and Sam remembers his sweaty, tacky hair but Benny doesn’t seem bothered by it. “‘Cause I care about ya, _cher_. A lot, if ya haven’t noticed. An’ lockin’ ya in the dungeon ain’t an option. Ever. I wanna take care of ya.”

Sam shudders again. Benny only pulls him closer.

 

 

(Art by [Burningwicker](http://burningwicker.tumblr.com/) [HERE](http://i.imgur.com/xcrC2M6.jpg).)


	5. Chapter Five

The hallucinations start an indeterminable amount of time later. It’s Dean, and Sam swears they cured him, but his eyes are black and he’s laughing, laughing so hard he shakes, and “ah, Sammy, told you, little brother. Junkies just can’t help themselves, huh? It’s okay. I’ll take care of it. Give you what you need, keep you fed. Keep you in line.”

He jerks, but something stops him from moving.

“Shh, shh,” a voice soothes. “C’mon, Sam, _cher_. ‘M here. It ain’t real. Promise. I’m real. You’re real. Our bed, that’s real. C’mon back to me, love.”

_Benny_. Sam knows that voice, latches onto it, won’t let go, follows it back. He blinks a few dozen times and Dean is gone, leaving only Benny, who’s watching him with concern. “Ya here?”

Sam nods. His head feels heavy. He realizes then that Benny’s holding him, cradling him really, like a child, which is ridiculous considering how much bigger Sam is than him. Nevertheless, he manages, and the skin and the pressure actually helps.

“Have a drink,” Benny says gently, leaning over to pour a glass of water and bringing it to Sam’s lips. “Stay hydrated, Sam. Lemme know if ya need more.”

Sam just nods again, and Benny sets the glass down before he goes back to gently touching Sam’s face. “Ya okay?” he asks softly.

Sam nods tiredly. He’s not really sure if it’s true--he’s shaking, his insides feel as if they’re burning, and he’s sure another hallucination is just waiting to brew up in the corner of his eyes--but Benny is here. That’s okay. Better than okay.

“Alright,” Benny says. “Lemme know. Wanna talk ‘bout it?”

Sam shivers extra hard. Dean, with the demon eyes. “Not now,” he says.

“Alright,” Benny murmurs. “Think ya can sleep?”

Sam’s honestly not sure, but it’s worth a try. He settles further against Benny and closes his eyes, breathing Benny in, letting the scent lull him off to sleep.

 

When he wakes up next, he feels like he’s going to shake apart. Benny’s holding him, he can tell that much. He’s half comforting him, half restraining him from shaking right off the bed, Sam thinks. “How long?” he manages to ask. His voice sounds raw.

“Almost two hours,” Benny says. “Ya hungry?”

The thought of food makes Sam gag. He shakes his head.

“Alright,” Benny soothes. “That’s fine. At least some water?”

Sam’s body doesn’t want water, but if that’s what it’s going to get, he’ll take it. He nods, so Benny moves far enough to get Sam another glass. He holds it to Sam’s lips, tilting it back. Sam drinks greedily, even as his body reminds him it’s not what it wants.

“That’s it,” Benny encourages. “Better?”

Sam nods. “Bathroom?”

Benny has to help him walk, help him stand, which makes Sam blush furiously. He’d probably protest if he had the energy to do so. Benny for his part is quiet about it, steady at Sam’s back and no more.

Then he helps him back to bed and gets him under the covers once more. “Sleep again?” Benny asks, stroking Sam’s sweaty hair back.

Sam nods and closes his eyes, but doesn’t manage to sleep until Benny gets into bed beside him and pulls him close.

 

“How long?” Sam asks as soon as he’s awake again.

“Five hours about,” Benny says. “How ya feelin’?”

Sam takes stock. He’s still shaking, and his insides don’t feel great, still like they’re twisting and turning, rebelling for something he’s refusing to give them. But the nausea is more manageable.

“Better,” he says, and winces. His throat sounds like he swallowed glass. “Was I screaming?”

“A bit,” Benny says. “Tried to wake ya, but ya were out cold.”

“Sorry,” Sam says, then winces again.

“Don’ be. Not unexpected,” Benny says. “Important thing is you’re feelin’ better.”

“Getting there,” Sam says.

“Ya hungry?”

Sam’s body still doesn’t want food, but he knows he needs it, so he nods.

“Gotta go get it,” Benny says, untangling himself from Sam and kissing the top of his head. “You okay while I’m gone?”

Sam nods, so Benny leaves. And that’s when things go bad.

Sam can tell himself Benny is just going to the kitchen, just going to make sandwiches or heat up soup, that he’s left but he’s not _gone_ , but that doesn’t change anything. The hallucinations--he’s together enough to process that it’s a hallucination, but not much more than that--starts brewing once more.

It’s Dean again, and some distant part of Sam’s brain thinks he shouldn’t be surprised. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” he says. “Looking a little peaked there, huh? Need big brother to help you out?”

His eyes flash. Sam closes his eyes tight, starts breathing heavy. He scrambles around, squeezing his hand where the injury has long since faded to a ropey scar. _Not real. Not real. Not real_.

He opens his eyes again. Dean is still there, smirking, and, worst of all, another figure is emerging, walking up behind Dean.

“Such a disappointment,” Benny says. “Don’t know why I’m even botherin’ to stick around. Honestly, Dean--the kid’s kinda a waste, huh?”

Sam flinches, then reaches for his hand again. He presses harder on his hand, so hard he’s drawing blood with his nails. He keeps going,  keeps pressing, but the cruel, twisted faces don’t disappear.

Benny leans in closer. “If ya can’t stop yourself, at least have the balls to do somethin’ with it,” he says.

“I did,” Sam murmurs, trying to look away, but it’s like Benny anticipates his movements, moves with him.

“Curing your brother? Pathetic. Talkin’ real shit here, Sam. _Use_ it. Embrace the monster you are.”

Sam jolts, arching off the bed, and manages to squeeze his eyes closed. “No, no, no,” he mutters, again and again. It’s not real but it seems so real and he doesn’t _know_ anymore and--

“Sam?”

Sam whimpers.

“Sam, can ya tell me what ya see?”

Sam cracks his eyes open. It’s probably a trick, but he has to check, has to know, he’s always been too curious for his own good.

There are two Bennys, and Dean’s still lurking off to one side, smirking at him. Sam blinks hard again, and then there’s only one Benny, and this one looks concerned, with a bowl of steaming soup in his hands.

“Sam?”

Sam’s trying to get his breathing back under control. Benny sets the soup on the side table and hurries to Sam’s side. “Shhh, breathe for me,” he murmurs. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Benny’s hands are on him again. Of course he is.

“Back with me?” Benny asks.

Sam nods tiredly. He’s pretty sure, at least.

Benny’s face is pinched together in a frown, his brow lined. “Tell me what I can do to help,” he commands softly, stroking Sam’s sweaty hair off his face once more.

That alone helps in its own way--with the exception of his hallucinated mother all those years ago, none of his hallucinations are typically much for stroking his hair--but he closes his eyes and nevertheless summons up the courage to ask for more. “Just…tell me…tell me…you still like me, right? Don’t regret this?”

Benny freezes for a half second and Sam’s heart drops, but then his hand starts moving yet. “Where’d ya get that idea?” he asks.

“I see things. On the blood. Visions. Hallucinations. Whatever.” Sam can’t help but notice his question hasn’t been answered. “Can you…can you just tell me? Even if you think I don’t want to hear it?”

“It makes ya think shit things,” Benny says bluntly. “I still like ya, Sam. Never regret this.” He laughs a bit. “Hell, when ya told me to follow ya outta that sewer…my whole life changed. Not the first time for this old vampire, but damn…definitely the best. Follow ya anywhere after a few days with ya. Still would. Promise.”

 Sam thinks these are tears he’s blinking back, and not from the pain. He tries to think of something to say, but words aren’t coming.

Thankfully, Benny doesn’t seem to be waiting for them. “C’mon,” he says, sliding into bed so he’s sitting behind Sam, propping him up. “Another thing of soup. Let’s see how much we can get in ya. Ya need some food.”

Sam opens his mouth obediently when Benny brings the mug to his lips and manages to drink a little over half of it down before pushing it away. “Enough,” he says quietly.

“Alright,” Benny says. “I’ll leave it over here. In case ya want more. TV, or sleep? Or I could read to ya.”

Sam turns so he’s lying against Benny, head cushioned on his chest, over where his heart is. The lack of beat should bother Sam, and if Sam had been thinking clearly he might have been hesitant to try, in case it did, but it doesn’t at all. It’s quiet, peaceful. Sam settles in.

Benny brings an arm up around him, rubbing at his back in long, slow circles, and Sam falls right back to sleep.

 

“How long?” he asks when he wakes again.

“This time?” Benny asks. “Four hours,” he says softly. “Ya were quiet. Feel any better?”

Sam takes stock. He’s pretty sure he does, the burning dying down and while the desperate craving isn’t gone, he at least knows he can manage this. He nods.

Benny rubs his back, and Sam pulls together the still slightly fuzzy memory of Benny doing this right before he fell asleep. He smiles. “I’m glad,” Benny says. “Water?”

Sam nods and actually manages to pour and hold the glass on his own, shakes down to minute tremors. A little bit spills when he tips the glass a bit too far, but neither of them mention it.

He drinks three glasses before he deems himself satiated. Afterwards, other needs make themselves known. “Bathroom.”

Benny has to help him out of bed and keep a careful hand on Sam while they walk to the bathroom, but Sam starts to get his balance back and at least he can take a piss without being supported.

When he’s done, he looks down at himself. “I could use a shower,” he says. It’s an understatement, and he realizes he doesn’t think he’s had one since the morning Dean took him. He smells, and he feels sticky-gross with sweat and time and illness.

“Need help?” Benny asks.

Sam turns to look, to see the face accompanying those words. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, that the idea of showering together and all it so often connotates doesn’t fill him with warmth and butterflies--and it’s been a while, he honestly thought it might never happen again after the sick feeling of Gadreel, he’s so absolutely shocked and glad that Benny is bringing this back in him once more--but still. He’s sick and shaky and he’s better but he’s not great, and he wouldn’t be much good right now. Anyways, if, when, they get there, Sam wants to remember it in perfect, crisp, clear detail, and he’s not sure if he can right now.

Some part of him also stupidly wants a nice date and a nice bed, soft sheets. He wonders if Benny is a romantic. Sam shouldn’t be, not with his life, but he is, always is, and especially is with people who matter.

Benny matters. He matters a whole hell of a lot.

But when he meets Benny’s eyes, all he sees is concern. He seems to read Sam’s mind, and smirks. “Promise to behave myself,” he says. “Your virtue’s safe with me. Jus’ wanna help ya out, Sam, that’s all. Everything else is for another day. Whenever we’re ready.”

Sam smiles and briefly thinks that he’s gotten lucky with Benny, to have someone who understands so clearly. Then he tugs at his shirt.

Benny pulls at his own clothes, and then starts the shower, getting the water running nice and hot. “Ready?” he asks, turning back to Sam.

Maybe he should feel guilty, but he can’t help looking Benny over. He’s beautiful, Sam realizes, although he knew this before. He tries not to let his gaze linger, but Benny smirks at him knowingly. That’s when Sam realizes Benny was looking too, must have been to have caught him. He blushes while smiling back, then steps into the shower.

Benny steps in right behind him. The shower stall wasn’t exactly built for two, but they make it work.

“Lemme do the hard work,” Benny says softly. “Ya just relax.”

Sam frowns. “Feel like all I’ve been doing for days is relax.”

Benny runs a washcloth between Sam’s shoulder blades. “You’ve been recoverin’ for days. An’ it looked like damn hard work to me.”

He gets Sam’s back, hips, his ass, then manages to bend so he can wash Sam’s legs and feet. He stands back up and cursorily but gently gets Sam’s groin, then his chest, and his arms, all the way down to the tips of each finger.

“Like having your hair washed?” Benny asks quietly.

“It’s been a while,” is all Sam says, and it’s true enough, it certainly has. He’s not sure he still likes it, definitely wouldn’t with a stranger, but Benny’s certainly no stranger, and Sam thinks the idea has a lot of promise.

“Wanna find out?” Benny asks, and Sam nods, so Benny picks up the shampoo bottle and squeezes some into his hand, then gets started working up a lather in Sam’s hair.

It feels incredible, little sparks on his scalp, and Sam can’t help but moan.

“Guess ya do like it, then,” Benny says. It sounds like he’s smiling, but Sam isn’t going to open his eyes and turn around to check. That would risk dislodging Benny’s hands from their current task, and Sam simply can’t risk that.

Instead, Sam moans again and tilts his head back into Benny’s hands. Benny keeps washing, and then rinses Sams hair clean. Sam tries not to show his disappointment when it’s over, but Benny catches on.

“I can do that whenever ya want,” Benny says lowly.

Sam laughs a bit. “Careful what kind of promises you make,” he says. “You may regret it.” He’s never much for asking for things, always feels like he’s too needy and demanding, but maybe he’ll be able to make an exception for the hair washing. If Benny’s serious.

“Doubt it,” Benny says. “Ya feel better? Ready to get out?”

Sam nods, so Benny shuts the water and they climb out. Standing is getting difficult for Sam, too much too soon, so he leans against the wall while Benny gets towels.

They dry off and walk back to their room, towels slung around hips and Benny’s arms around Sam. Once there, they dress quickly, Sam pulling on sweats. He’s still sick, he thinks. He deserves comfort.

“Lunch?” Benny asks.

Sam nods. Food sounds good. Maybe not a three-course meal, but at least something more substantial than soup in his stomach.

So they walk to the kitchen, which they learn immediately is occupied. Sam freezes. He doesn’t know why he didn’t expect it, he knows full well that three other people are living here, but it still stops him in his tracks.

Dean looks _wrecked_. He’s pale, and his eyes are drawn tight. He’s staring at Sam. “Sammy.”

Benny’s hand is steady on Sam’s back, which is primarily what keeps Sam from fleeing the room. “Hey, Dean,” he says softly.

“Anything left?” Benny asks.

Jody turns to them and smiles. “We did sandwiches. There’s stuff left in the fridge.”

Benny gently steers Sam towards a chair, then moves to the fridge.

Jody’s looking hard at Dean. Sam can’t tell what the goal is there, but she’s intent. Whatever she’s expecting doesn’t happen, though.

Dean turns to Sam. “I can be ready to go whenever you are,” he says. “I mean, as long as you’re clean, we can hit the road.”

Sam flinches at the implication, the reminder that he’s not _sick,_ he’s _detoxing._ He takes a deep breath. Benny doesn’t seem to see them as so different. Detoxing, sure, but not a junkie who should lie in a metal underground hole. Someone who’s sick. Someone who needs support.

That’s neither here nor there. “I’m leaving for a while.”

Dean stares. “What?”

Sam can’t help but notice that neither Jody nor Benny so much as twitch. Even Cas only looks mildly surprised.

“I’m leaving,” Sam says, making himself look at Dean, making himself say the words clearly. “I need time, Dean. This happening hasn’t changed that. It’s really made it worse.” Dean opens his mouth as if to protest, but Sam cuts him off. “You’ve forced something into me,” he says. “Twice. I know, this last time you were a demon. Not your fault. I mean, you took the Mark, fuck knows why, you must’ve known what could happen.” He takes a deep breath, then shakes his head. “Forget it. Not the point. It wasn’t all you who chased me, tied me up, fed me blood, tried to feed my addiction. But you _did_ force Gadreel into me. I don’t care what you knew or you didn’t. You did it, you made that choice, you _took away mine_ , and it’s fucking wrecked me, Dean. I need some time. Maybe forever, I don’t know. I’m sorry you’re in a bad place right now Dean, but so am I, and we’re not gonna help each other like this. So I’m going to go.”

Dean sits stunned. Jody’s still looking at him, still seemingly unsatisfied. And Benny sets a sandwich in front of Sam.

“Eat,” Benny says softly before sitting next to Sam.

“Where are you going?” Cas asks.

Sam shrugs. “Don’t know really,” he says. “Even if I did, I probably wouldn’t say right now. No offense. Kinda defeats the point.”

He bites into his sandwich. It’s good, and his stomach seems willing to accept it. He eats slowly, but steadily, and soon enough half of the sandwich is gone.

He pushes his plate away at that point. “It’s good to see you, Dean,” he says. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He pushed back from the table, and Benny’s immediately there to help him out of the room.

“Am I invited?” Benny asks. “I understan’ if I’m not, but…”

Sam shakes his head. “I was hoping you’d come,” he says. “Guess I should have said something first.”

Benny shakes his head and smiles. “Jus’ happy to know I’m invited,” he says. “Would give ya your space, if ya need it. Hope ya know that. But leavin’ ya…last thing I wanna be doin’.”

“Then don’t,” Sam says. “I don’t want, me either. Come with me. Please.”

“Of course,” Benny says. “Anywhere in particular?”

Sam turns into their room and smiles. “Wherever you want,” he says. “Wherever it can be just us, and we can sort things out. Where I can…sort myself out. You may have noticed…I’m kinda fucked up.”

“Sometimes,” Benny says dryly. “Prob’ly not in the ways ya think, though. I’m gonna make ya love yourself if it takes the rest of my immortal life, Sam Winchester.”

Sam feels warmth inside, his veins on fire in a totally different way than the drug, a slow effusion of warmth, steady.

“Wherever I want, huh?” Benny asks.

Sam shrugs.  “I’ve never really had a home. Don’t have much in the way of recommendations.”

“Let’s find a place, then,” Benny says. “Jus’ drive an’ find ourselves a place.”

There’s a knock at the door. Benny nods, so Sam says, “come in.”

Jody pokes her head in, and something tightens in Sam’s chest. “I’m sorry I’m bailing on you, I--”

“Shh,” she says, and Sam recognizes that as her Mom voice. “Don’t worry about that. You’re taking care of yourself and I’m proud. I just wanted to say goodbye.”

“I’m not leaving just yet,” Sam says.

“I know,” she says. “But I wanted it to be just us. Or, well, no Dean. Just for a minute.”

She sighs. “I’m giving him the option to come stay with me, or he can stay here, and Cas will stay with him. I’m headed out ‘bout when you do. I can’t do this.”

“We asked too much of you,” Sam surmises. “I’m sorry, I--”

“You didn’t,” she interrupts again. “I’m just not--doesn’t it bother you, that he didn’t apologize? Didn’t even say thank you?”

Sam shrugs. “That’s Dean?”

“It bothers me,” Jody says. “I’ll look after him because I like you boys. You’re family and I look after family. And I know he needs it. But I won’t pretend it’s okay. So I want you to know--what you did was impressive, and it took a lot of guts, and I know it was hard. Thank you.”

Sam shakes his head. “It wasn’t--”

“It was a damn big deal,” Benny cuts in. “Please jus’ let the nice lady tell ya that. An’ believe her.”

Jody grins. “I told you he was a good pick,” she says to Sam. “I’m not wrong. Now…you come visit me. Or at least call. Send a letter. Carrier pigeon, smoke signals. Something.”

Sam nods. “Of course,” he says. “I can’t promise we’ll visit, not right away. But calls. I can do calls.”

She smiles, and Sam thinks he must imagine the slightly watery eyes. “You better.”

He hugs her, pulls her close and a little bit off the ground. It makes her laugh, and he laughs in turn, shaky as it is.

The exertion from lifting her isn’t easy on his recently detoxed body, so he sets her down and sits on the edge of the bed. “Take care of yourself, Sam.” She looks at both of them. “Take care of each other.”

“Always will,” Benny promises.

“Right,” Jody says. “I’m going to go see what’s going on out there. I’ll leave you to your packing.”

She walks out, and Benny pulls their bags from the closet, raising an eyebrow. “Still half packed,” he says.

Sam nods. “Then it shouldn’t be hard to finish. So we can hit the road again.”

 

It takes a month for them to wind up curled up together in a big bed in a houseboat on the Mississippi. The thin blanket is haphazardly thrown over their naked legs, but mostly pushed off, the night air sticky hot, made only warmer between their activities and each other.

Sam smiles easily. “You gonna clean me up?” he asks.

Benny pretends to sigh. “I should’a known you’d be demanding.” He kisses Sam’s forehead, then gets out of bed. Sam watches him leave.

They didn’t intend to come here, had just been driving when Benny’s keen eyes had spotted the sign. Houseboat rentals. They totalled the cash they had left and pushed it together, and now they have themselves a few weeks out here, just the two of them.

It’s been nice, to say the least.

Benny comes back with a washcloth and a soft smile. “Like you waitin’ for me in bed,” he admits.

Sam stretches, lengthening his already long body, watching Benny watch him. “You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” he says, grinning, before he settles back against the bed and lets Benny clean him up.

Benny crawls back into bed once he’s done, pulling Sam close. The curtains are shut, but the last vestiges of sunlight seep in around the edges, setting their bed aglow. It’s beautiful, Sam thinks. Benny’s beautiful.

Benny seems to be thinking the same thing, judging from the tender way he looks at Sam before kissing him. “God, never thought…I am one lucky son of a bitch,” he says.

Sam shakes his head. “Think way too much of me.”

“Never,” Benny says, kissing along his jaw.

Sam squirms a bit, but relaxes into the kisses a few seconds later, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh, reaching over to wrap an arm around Benny, pulling him in closer.

“I love you, you know,” he says conversationally.

He said it five days into their roadtrip away from the Bunker, into a new life. It’s not even hard to say anymore. Somehow, though, it always still arrests Benny in his tracks, whenever Sam says it.

“I know,” he says after a moment. “God, ya spoil an old vampire.”

Sam snorts. Benny gets serious, and kisses Sam’s lips again, soft and sweet this time. “I love ya too.”

“We have to leave tomorrow,” Sam says, sighing and sinking back into the bed. It’s not even the most comfortable, although compared to their bed in the bunker, it does its job fine. Besides. It’s theirs.

“Yeah,” Benny agrees. “We could make some money, come back…”

“Maybe,” Sam allows. “But you need to eat first.” They’d run out of bagged blood just this morning. “Blood bank, or are you craving something?”

Benny smiles. “Know somethin’?” he says. “With you ‘round…those cravin’s are practically nothin’. I’d still kill if we were huntin’, prob’ly drink too. But I don’t _need_ it like that. Amazin’ what another person can do, not bein’ lonely. Even better what someone ya love can do.”

Sam blushes and Benny grins. “Yeah,” Benny continues. “I do need a blood bank. But not today. We can worry ‘bout that in the mornin’ when we get outta here. Where we headed next?”

Sam shrugs. “Wherever we feel like?” he says. “Sure we’ll find something.”

“You lookin’ for a hunt?” Benny asks.

“If we run into one,” Sam says. He’s nervous about meeting demons again, he can admit it, he knows Benny can tell. But he’s a hunter. He helps people. He can’t just ignore it.

Benny rubs his nose gently behind Sam’s ear. “You’ll be jus’ fine,” he promises. “Ya can handle anythin’, an’ if ya ever feel like ya can’t, I’ll be right there. That’s a promise.”

“Thanks, Benny.”

Benny wraps himself back around Sam completely, arms and legs weighing them down to the bed. Sam smiles. “I get it,” he says. “No moving.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m gonna need dinner eventually,” Sam cautions.

“Mhm,” Benny agrees again. “But not yet.”

Sam sighs and relaxes into the bed, relaxes into Benny. The sun fades from the window, robbing the room of light, leaving them in gentle darkness. Sam just buries his nose against Benny’s neck.

“Sam?”

“Mhm.”

“If we run into a hunt…find your brother…that gonna be a problem?”

Sam’s been trying not to think about it. “I’m not ready to go back yet.”

Benny seems to consider that. “But maybe someday?”

Sam shrugs. “Maybe? I don’t know, not now.” He hesitates. “Is that a problem? Do you want…?”

He doesn’t want to go back. He might for Benny. Benny and Dean, after all, were friends first. Sam shouldn’t expect…

“No,” Benny says soothingly. “Take as long as ya need, Sam. However long that is.”

“Really?” Sam checks.

“Really.”

Maybe someday. Sam doesn’t want to be near his brother right now, although he does miss him somehow. He wonders how that would play out. If it would be too much to expect an apology.

Maybe he can start with a phone call, and see how that goes before he tries anything more drastic.

Benny kisses his cheek. “Don’t think ‘bout it now,” he advises.  “We got time. All the time you need.”

Sam smiles. He knows.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Benny whispers. “Go back to driftin’.”

Sam takes that to heart, but first shifts them around so Benny is on his back, Sam’s head on his chest, pillowed over the unbeating heart. He closes his eyes and sighs.

Benny pokes his side. “I thought ya wanted dinner.”

“Mm. Sleep first.”

Benny leans forward and kisses the top of Sam’s head. “Okay. Sleep first.”

Sam smiles and settles back in. Tomorrow they’ll move on, sort out what’s next for the two of them. And Sam’s not sure what that will be, to be honest. But until then, they have this boat and this room and this bed and, as always now, each other, and Sam intends fully to enjoy it.


End file.
